Black Champagne
by Tsuki Senichiya
Summary: AU. During a time of conflict, Yakuza lieutenant Ichigo must protect his boss's little sister, the notorious writer Rukia Kuchiki. Although the two are divided by war and clashing personalities, they cannot help but gradually come to admire one another. M
1. Blackbird

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**'BLACKBIRD'**

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**Rating: **M, because I love explicitly inappropriate stories.

**Warning: **_Very, very_ dirty language in this chapter, and it only gets dirtier. Have soap ready.

**Pairings: **Ichigo/Rukia, and some more~

**Disclaimer: **I wish I could marry Bleach and have its babies, but alas...

**Author's notes: **I apologize for the sudden emergence of this story, but it's something I've wanted to try for a long time, and I want to see how it goes. The ideas were simply screaming and tugging at my hair every single day that I finally succumbed; after all, I'm a whore for mafia-centric fics. So, here is _Black Champagne_.

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**June 14th  
Yokohama, Japan**

The building smelled like shit. More specifically, the burned-down, blackened warehouse building that was devoured by a monstrous conflagration just the other night--caused by a supposed "accident"--smelled like shit. But, it wasn't simply any shit; it was the shit stench of charred, roasted bodies buried under masses of rubble, debris, and black ash.

That "shit" was death, and Kurosaki Ichigo was surrounded by it.

"Jesus Christ..." he sighed, standing over a corpse while grimacing at the malodorous odor that rose from every inch of the building--or, rather, remains of the building.

His partner Abarai Renji was accompanying him, and in the moonlight Renji's crimson-colored hair seemed to glisten richly, his russet Porsche Design sunglasses glowing, and tanned skin marked with black tattoos gleaming with sweat.

The sweltering summer heat had drained the two men, and they both loosened their ties and unbuttoned their suits to make work easier. Though, trying to find cargos of drugs under piles of burned wreckage remained far from simple.

"Fuck..." Renji groaned. "It's fuckin' hot in here, like a fuckin' bitch..."

"Shut up and keep looking," Ichigo interrupted, wiping his chin. "If I'm gonna work effectively I need to go on without listening to your baboon-like voice every single minute."

"Hey, fuck you," The red-head growled. "If you didn't piss off that wrinkly, old fucker Barragan by killing one of his underlings, this shit never would have happened, and I wouldn't be stuck with you trying to find our fuckin' drugs."

Ichigo did not respond at first; his eyes were kept riveted on the various bodies lying around which were outlined with white chalk, as well the yellow barricade tape that exhibited the words "do not cross" swaying wildly in the warm breeze.

Blocking out Renji's thunderous voice--something he learned to do quite successfully--Ichigo focused himself on that peculiar sway of the tape that flapped and flapped so briskly. It had reminded him of that certain Italian/Spanish mafia leader: old man Barragan Luisenbarn, one of the Yakuza gang's archrivals, and without a doubt a dangerous man notorious for unhesitantly murdering masses of people in multiple drug wars.

But, it wasn't simply Barragan; it was one of his followers to be exact, and how that pitiful youngster had cowered under Kurosaki Ichigo's grasp after attempting to attack the ginger-head with a dagger. Ichigo had been in Pescara, Italy for business when the two clashed, and it would be a fatal error for the teen hoodlum.

After crushing the boy's hand, Ichigo easily disposed of him, sending the lad down into the depths of the Adriatic Sea where he struggled wildly to survive before drowing.  
Although Ichigo was not one to kill without reluctancy, he displayed no mercy to his victims if the dignity and reputation of the Yakuza were being shamed.

"Tch," Ichigo grumbled in response to his red-headed companion's remark. "He had it coming."

"Well, you brought a shit-load of hell on us all, asshole." Renji spat. "I'm never goin' back to Italy with you again."

"Fuck off."

"Aww fuck, it's hot..." The red-head groaned, shifting his eyes back and forth in the dark while wiping the droplets of sweat off his forehead every now and then. Renji looked back at Ichigo, who was busy examining a separate area of the warehouse.

_'That asshole,'_ he thought to himself. _'Boss had a fuckin' heart attack when he found out ginger-head killed Barragan's little pet._' Renji quickly plucked the cigarette from his mouth and tossed it to the floor, crushing it with his heavy Mezlan shoes.

He was a brash one--the red-head, that is--and definitely not one to be happy while performing an underling's dirty work, such as sneaking into a demolished warehouse one evening trying to locate the gang's drugs--if there were any left.

Even more infuriating to the red-head was none other than Kurosaki Ichigo, a carrot-haired man who was roughly four years his junior, yet managed to become Renji Abarai's near-equal in a matter of months, and now even had the audacity to call the latter's voice "baboon-like."

Renji still remembered that one particular day when he arrogantly strutted off to meet Ichigo, and proceeded to welcome the orange-haired lad with a blow to the ribs, making it clear that he was his superior--his _wakagashira _(first lieutenant). After all, the crimson-haired man was reputed for being the gang's muscle; unfortunately, he was pretty much _all _and _only _muscle. As it turned out, Ichigo's sharp intellect and resourcefulness impressed their _oyabun _(head boss), resulting in his new position as a second lieutenant.

God, that pissed him off.

"Oi, Ichi..." Renji yelled over to his partner. "Oi--"

"Call me that again..." Ichigo replied, walking over to the red-head. "...and I'll snap your balls off."

"I'd like to see yer puny hands try." Renji said with a smug smirk on his lips. "Anyway, there aren't any drugs left. Look over there; those crates are empty."

He pointed over to a mountain of blackened crates, all strewn into a massive heap of wood, and the lids gone. It was clear; Barragan and his crew--not only did they burn down Yakuza property and kill some underlings--had taken all of the Yakuza's drug loads.

That would certainly cost the gang a pretty fuckin' penny.

"Shit..." Ichigo sighed, feeling somewhat in grief over the loss. "Shit...Boss is gonna be furious."

"Yeah..." Renji mumbled, lighting a cigarette in the dark and sticking it into his mouth. "That's not all, Ichi, so save yer breath and take a look at this."

He ambled towards the pile of crates, and, with his feet, knocked one over. The force from his kick made the crate tumble loudly, and as it rolled, something fell out with a heavy thud.

Ichigo squinted his eyes--in addition to covering his nose from the foul stench that suddenly emerged--and inched closer to the obscure object. But, once he got close enough, horror instantaneously spread across his face, and rapid jolts of fear raced throughout his stiffened body. He flinched, backing away.

"Jesus _fucking_ Christ...' Renji then murmured, as his eyes widened with trepidation after seeing what exactly had fallen out of the crate--it was nothing he had expected, certainly not some mere Yakuza underling; that "thing" was something even more chilling to the bone. He moved closer, slowly though, and peered down at the object: a tiny decaying body.

It was not simply any dead body, though; the object had been impaled with a dagger, and with four bullet holes through the chest. It was small--_too_ small--dripping with blood, and with dried crimson caked all over its tiny face. Wisps of that familiar pink hair fell from the white school-girl cap fixed over the object's head, and its green, cherubic eyes were rolled back in an almost eerie manner.

"_Fuck_..." Renji grimaced, coughing from the putrid stench that rose from the body. "Fuck, fuck...that goddamn fucker Barragan...!"

"They actually killed her." Ichigo gasped silently, trembling, and his hand curling into a fist. "They killed Kenpachi's daughter..._Yachiru-chan_."

**

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**

**June 14th  
Charleville-Mezieres, France**

Clicking sounds of her typewriter echoed through the vacant parlour, accompanied by the tender taps of the light evening rainfall and Vivaldi's _Winter_ playing on the radio. It was twelve o'clock, and most people were already tucked into their beds by then.

However, for Rukia--with her black-rimmed glasses on and pink lips sipping steamy, rich coffee--the day never ended. She flipped through her books, alternating between reading and typing, and occasionally took sips of her warm coffee to keep her awake.

_Ringgg.....ringggg._

But that helped, too.

Pushing her glasses upward, Rukia quickly reached for the phone on her desk and answered it. Yawning, she said, "_Bonjour_, this is Rukia, may I ask--"

"Ahhh! Miss Rukia...!" The voice on the other line yelped. "You're still awake, thank goodness!"

She cocked her eyebrows. "Excuse me, but do I know you?"

"Miss Rukia..." The voice groaned, upset. "It's me, your editor: Shuuhei Hisagi."

"Oh..." Rukia yawned again. "Right, right...How are you this lovely evening?"

"Not good! Not good at all!" He suddenly started yelling, so loudly that Rukia had to hold the phone away from her ear. "Where are those documents?! And that article? Have you finished _anything_ since last month?!"

"Hisagi-kun," Rukia smirked. "What's going on? You're usually so calm..."

"How can I be calm when you keep stressing me out by pushing back the deadline?! My god, it's already June. You have to turn something in...!"

"I will, trust me. I'm working on the article right now."

"Ohh, okay. Then can you send it to me by morning?"

"Oh, I don't know," Rukia replied, fingers tapping on her desk. "You see, I'm not on my laptop--"

"You mean to tell me you're still using that goddamn typewriter?! My god, this isn't the eighteen-hundreds! Use a goddamn computer!"

"Calm down, sweetheart, it'll take me a day to send it to you. You're still in Belgium, right?"

"I'm in Japan!"

"Oh..." Rukia then bit her lip and held up her mug. "Then, it'll take more than a day..."

"Miss Rukiaaaa..." Hisagi's voice seemed to slur into a sob.

"I'm sorry, Hisagi. Just wait a bit longer, okay?"

"How can you do this to me?! Oh--god, you are just like Rangiku-san!"

"Have a lovely evening, Hisagi dear."

"Rukia--!"

"_Au revoir_."

_Click._

And that is Rukia Kuchiki: headstrong, sardonic, and--quite frankly--doesn't give a shit about anyone or anything. Her world is governed by work, consisting of writing, reading, and pissing off a whole lot of people, mostly poor Shuuhei Hisagi and the local French authority.

From the time she opened her glistening, lavender eyes to view the world above, Rukia Kuchiki was raised in a realm of books. She flipped through the pages of _Wuthering Heights_ at age 7, scanned the minute text of _The Scarlet Letter_ while her peers learned basic arithmetic, and carried a copy of Nabokov's _Lolita_ wherever she walked. And, being as intelligent as she was, Rukia entered one of the most celebrated universities in the United Kingdom, while the deans of Yale and Princeton fumed over their loss of such an inquisitive, bright young lady.

Although her future shimmered brilliantly overhead, her past remained a murky mystery. Rewinding back two decades ago, Rukia was not addressed as a "Kuchiki", but rather as an "Urahara", after the man who raised her in his modest shop the moment she was born. She did not know who her parents were, nor did she care; all her life Rukia would devote herself to literature and writing. Fortunately, her dedication would take her to higher ground, for she blossomed into a prolific writer, albeit mostly known for her caustic, sometimes crude humor and insight. Nicknamed "Merle"--or Blackbird--by her college peers, she audaciously attacked the government, religious institutions, and various officers of authority. Despite her age, no one dared to undermine little Miss Rukia, for her quick wit and persuasive style of writing dragged supporters and fanatics of "Merle" right into the palm of her hand.

Though feared, she was nevertheless threatened by school officials to either halt her production of such poisonous material, or be tossed out the gates. Finally, the Ivy League schools were sighing in relief. "Thank goodness she stayed in Europe," the dean of Dartmouth laughed.

But, Rukia always got the last laugh. Always.

Though she stood a little under five feet, the Cambridge University graduate made up for her height with quick wit and a charm that was almost painful to bear; her personality was simply fiery, and with that she was able to rake in many adoring fans, and--at the same time--plenty of enemies, as well.

It was a typical night of typing and hot coffee for the 'Blackbird.' Every now and then, of course, she would pick up the phone and answer to a couple of angry colleagues or psychopaths who threatened to rape and kill her. But, as stated before, Rukia always got the last laugh.

This certain night, however, no one would be laughing.

After her shower and a cup of creme brulee, Rukia sat back at her desk, much more relaxed, and peered over at the picture frames neatly lined on her shelf. She took time to gaze warmly at a picture of a red-haired boy standing adjacent next to a girl wearing pig-tails, and a blonde, messy-haired man embracing the two children. Slipping her glasses off, she smiled tenderly.

"Father Kisuke," Rukia quietly whispered, touching the frame. "Maybe I'll come back to England to see you."

_Ringgg...ringgg_

Grumbling in irritation, Rukia sauntered over to her desk and picked up the phone. Holding it to her ear, she sighed, "I'm sorry, but office hours are from nine to nine, so please call back when I'm not sleepy as hell and about to about to collapse. Thank you--"

"Rukia?" A husky, low voice emerged from the other line, with a foreign accent that seemed to clash with his French articulation. "Rukia, is that you?"

Noticing that it was most definitely a male's voice, Rukia frowned and replied, "Yes, my name is Rukia. If you're that same pervert who called me last weekend, then cut the bullshit and go pick up a French street-whore. Goodbye--"

"You mistake me, Rukia." The voice interjected sternly. "I apologize for this so late in the evening."

"Who are you?"

"You don't know me, Rukia, but you will." The voice replied.

"I don't think so, mister."

"Please listen to me--"

"What the hell do you want?" She grew angry, occasionally looking over at the empty space of the paper she had yet to type up.

"Nothing from you, Rukia. Just spare some time to hear what I have to say."

"You better make it quick," Rukia snapped. "I have work to finish, and this better not be some useless bullshit."

"It is not, I swear it. Listen--"

"Then stop wasting my time and tell me who you are and exactly what you want."

She heard a sigh from the man and there was silence for a while, but he then answered, "I am your brother-in-law."

...

Rukia scoffed, shaking her head. "Sorry, but I don't have one. I don't even have siblings. I'm afraid you've mistaken me for another Rukia."

"I haven't."

"You have. Like I said, I'm an only child."

"Of course, that's what you think."

Rukia replied, "I beg pardon, mister?"

"Have you received the mail from me, yet? I believe it is in a green envelope."

As much as she wanted to hang up and return to her work, Rukia's curiosity took over; she decided to play along with whoever it was on the other line, just to spice up her evening a bit with some excitement.

"...Well."

Rukia paused and glanced over at a stack of unread mail on her dresser. Flipping through the clusters of envelopes, she finally was able to locate the light-green one he described, and quickly plucked it out from under the clutter. Staring down at the lettering, her eyes suddenly began to widen in bewilderment.

The mail was sent from Japan.

...

_'Wait a moment.'_

Japan?

"Where are you calling me from, mister?" Rukia quickly asked.

"I am currently in Tokyo, Rukia. Have you opened the letter, yet?"

As she slit open the envelope, a small slip of blue-red paper fell out. Picking it up, Rukia examined the slip; it was, to her astonishment, an airplane ticket to Tokyo.

She then gasped, face flushing with rage; everything was becoming too weird for her to understand, and angrily asked the man, "What the hell is your problem? If you think I'm going to fly all the way over to Tokyo so you can kidnap and rape me, then I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I'm not some desperate, sex-crazed slut who's gonna mindlessly come over there just because--"

"You mistake me once again, Rukia." The man coldly replied. "Listen to me, I pray you. In a few days, I shall be dead, and I only wish to see you before I go."

Rukia frowned. "I expect a final answer from you, mister, and no more of this freaky stuff. Who the hell are you?"

"..."

"Well?"

"..."

"Answer me, mister."

"...My name..." The man reluctantly replied, with a hint of sorrow diluting the austerity in his voice. "...my name is Kuchiki Byakuya."

**

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**June 16th  
Tokyo, Japan**

Yellow beams of light burst through the thick fog one dawn as a silver Cadillac approached the front of the mansion. While the vehicle pulled up to the grand entrance, a tall mustached man with black shades and donned in a black suit walked out to welcome the two lieutenants back. After parking the Cadillac, Ichigo and Renji emerged, both clearly doused in sheer exhaustion.

"Ah, Kurosaki, Abarai, you two look like shit." The man remarked, chuckling.

"Save it, Iba." the ginger-head snapped. "I'm gonna visit Boss now."

"He's gonna be pretty angry with the two of you, especially you, Kurosaki, for starting this whole drug war again."

"I didn't start it, now fuck off." He shifted his russet eyes to look at Renji. "Are you coming, Abarai?"

"Yeah, yeah..." The red-head groaned as he watched Ichigo amble into the mansion. Pulling Iba aside, Renji then asked him, "How's Boss?"

"Not good," Iba answered. "He's been coughing up a shit-load of blood, and all this stress is really killin' him. I don't think he's gonna last very long."

"What about the big guy?"

"You mean Zaraki?"

"Yeah. How is he faring after the report?"

"Ahh..." Iba mumbled, scratching his head awkwardly. "...furious. I've never seen a man so angry before, and some pretty fucked up things have happened to him in the past, but nothing has ever made him so enraged. Even Boss doesn't want to talk to him."

"Shit." Renji sighed. "That was the most fucked up thing Barragan and his cronies could ever do--kill a child. Jesus..."

"I'd rather not go bother Zaraki now. You don't know what sick things he might do to you if you disturb him."

"I wouldn't dream of it." Renji said, walking into the entrance. "But, that old Italian is gonna pay. Someone will; you know how Zaraki is when is comes to revenge."

"I'm well aware, Abarai." Iba replied. "Don't remind me of how caught up he gets with bloodshed."

"Heh..."

As Renji ambled down the dimly-lit halls of the mansion, he met up with Ichigo at the room's entrance towards the back of the corridor. The gang's personal medic, Isane, had just emerged from the room and nodded, signaling that it was okay to visit the boss.

"He wishes to see you two now." The lavender-haired woman whispered, and turned her heel to leave.

"Boss." Ichigo said, facing the door. "It's us, Kurosaki and Abarai."

"Enter." A faint, low-pitch voice answered back. The two lieutenants complied and slid open the door, bowing slightly before walking inside.

Their boss, Kuchiki Byakuya, a gray-eyed man with fine ebony locks that delicately cascaded down his pale complexion, was seated on his bed, and flipping through reports--like always. Though he was young, claiming the title of _Oyabun _when he was a mere twenty-eight years of age and graced with the physical attributes that were more appropriate for a woman, he was well-upheld within the Yakuza community.

However, after his health began to deteriorate, Byakuya's authoritativeness seemed to wane, and control over the drug wars were gradually slipping from his grasp. The stress had caused his cheeks to hollow, and his face to pale; impending death cast a permanent shadow over his solemn face.

"Kurosaki." The black-haired man called his lieutenant over, still reading through the reports. "The cargos have been stolen, correct?"

"Yes, Kuchiki-san." Ichigo replied. "Without a doubt our building was set on fire by Barragan's crew after he discovered that it was owned by the Yakuza."

"I see. And there is not a single drop of the substance left?"

"There isn't."

"And, what else did you find, Kurosaki, that caused such an uproar within my dwelling?" Byakuya demanded to know, his silver eyes glistening.

Ichigo lowered his gaze, and, though hesitant, answered, "We discovered Kenpachi-san's daughter in one of the crates. It was an accident; we did not expect to find the girl in the building, but she was there."

"Who killed the child?"

"It was most likely Barragan's doing, sir."

"Hm, unfortunate." The man sighed defeatedly, turned his eyes to face his lieutenants and continued, saying, "You are all aware that I won't live past this week. Once I am gone, my wife will take my place, and I expect all of you to show her the utmost of reverence. Understood?"

"Yes, boss." Renji answered.

Byakuya coughed into his handkerchief before saying, "And, lastly, before I am gone, I want to ask you something, Kurosaki."

The ginger-head tilted his head downwards. "Yes?"

The black-haired man set his papers down and presented his lieutenant with a single photograph of a young, lavender-eyed girl sipping tea while settled in a cafe. Ichigo held it in his hand, and before examining it, asked, "Who is this young lady?"

Byakuya was silent for a moment, some hint of sorrow glimmering in his silver eyes. "I have never mentioned her before, but the girl's name is Rukia. She is my sister-in-law, the younger sister of my first wife."

Renji's eyes instantly widened and he asked, "Hisana nee-san had a sister?"

The red-head's sudden intrusion elicited an angry glare from Ichigo, but nevertheless Byakuya continued. "I have never met her before, this young lady. I sent one of the senior bosses to France to find her exact whereabouts and obtain a photo of her. It's strange; she resembles Hisana so much, yet I know that her personality is nothing like my first wife's."

Ichigo peered down at the photo in his grasp, riveting his attention on the black-haired girl. From what he could tell, the lady was of petite, slim stature, and harbored a sharp, piercing gaze that accentuated her loveliness. It was astonishing, indeed; this Miss Rukia was a splitting image of Hisana nee-san, though there was an air of austerity about her that was evident to even Ichigo.

"Sir..." the ginger-head began.

"Rukia will arrive in a couple of days." Byakuya whispered before holding his bloodied handkerchief up to his lips. "I have made arrangements. Although Rukia is an adult, I worry about dragging her all the way from France to here: the center of the Yakuza administration. That is why I appoint you, Kurosaki..."

The ginger-head man stiffened, suddenly understanding that he was about to obtain a hefty task that was impossible to refuse. "Is there something you need from me, sir?"

Byakuya nodded.

"...Once Rukia-san arrives, I want you to watch over her. I give permission to you as her guardian as long as she stays in Japan. Don't disappoint me, Kurosaki."

**TO BE CONTINUED...**

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Ah, I think some feedback would be lovely, so please review :)  
I'd love to hear what you all have to say.

And, just a few more notes...

1) _Oyabun_--head boss of Yakuza  
2) _Wakagashira_--first lieutenant  
3) Yes, I did make Rukia to be a bit bitchy, but I still love her.  
4) And, finally, Yachiru is dead :( I read an article about this one rape of an eight year-old in Korea, and it really pissed me off, but I couldn't get that darn story out of my head, so this is evidence of its impact on me.

Thanks for reading, loves!


	2. Sunday

**'SUNDAY'**

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**Author's notes: **I am very pleased that _Black Champagne_ has been doing so well; it's still a baby fic, but please do continue to review and support it :) I try to make the story as realistic as possible, and, of course, that includes going on Google for research and having a few books by my side just so that no one complains about how I fucked the entire geography/time period/history, etc...

I will try to update as soon as possible, loves, so please be patient with me; remember that I want to produce quality work for you all (no shit, here; it takes a hell of a lot of time, too Dx).

Also, thanks to the following for such wonderful reviews on the previous chapters:

_bcsaturdai/OnigiriKami/Cowdy/TigerRaiken/psychegloom/Aeriesboots/Grapefruit Tea/Kittie-chan/  
StrawberryLoveMidgetIchiruki/erning/Rukia-Chappi-Chan/  
demon*feathers/Yuyukawai/lovemydogs82/ruki09_

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****June 20th  
Tokyo, Japan**

A pair of three-inch, crimson red stiletto heels stepped onto the cool granite floor of the Tokyo Airport, tapping loudly as they ambled down the halls. Her shimmering, lavender eyes glistened as Rukia brushed a stray wisp of her silken, ebony hair away, and curled her rose-pink lips into somewhat of a frown.

For some reason, the Japanese people were not what she had expected.

Since her childhood, Rukia's adoptive father, Kisuke Urahara, had told her of such brilliantly entertaining stories of Japan, including the vibrant festivals, and the merry, care-free people that supposedly flourished throughout the country. But, as it turned out, some disappointment would follow once "Miss Merle" arrived.

The crowds of business men and working women, donned in either black or dark navy fabrics, paid no attention to the young lady, and simply walked on by without even a glance. With the exception of a few boisterous teenagers running about, the people neither smiled, nor said a word to each other. Rukia continued to frown; indeed, she figured she must adapt to the solemness of the Japanese, who were so unlike her lively, animated French neighbors back in Charleville-Mezieres.

It had come as a disappointment to her; Rukia had been expecting waitresses dressed up as anime characters and elegant ladies donned in decorated yukatas.

But, the raven-haired beauty was evidently the single pearl in the plain, black-navy mud. Sighing, she held onto an envelope tightly while scanning the surroundings, looking for her "two gentlemanly escorts", as promised by her supposed brother-in-law (she promised not to be a bitch in return for the service).

Other than coming to meet him, Rukia had no idea what she was doing here in this foreign country where the individuals wore masks of perpetual gloom, and no one stopped a moment for leisure. She didn't want to be here, especially not when her editor threatened her every five minutes, begging for another article or a page of her yet-to-be-completed novel.

Rukia had been adamant about staying in France, that is, until Urahara himself called her about a strange envelope he had received from Tokyo. Astonished--and quite pissed off that someone would dare distract her during such a critical time in her career--she knew immediately that there was some fishy business happening behind her back. But _what_?

Rukia had come to find out.

And so the petite, lavender-eyed girl continued to walk about, looking for a much-needed Starbucks Cafe and trying to fabricate excuses to explain to her editor--whom Rukia was convinced would yank out all his hair once he found out she had left her safe, little burrow in France for "family bonding time."

However, as her feet moved and her eyes shifted to scan the place, Rukia's attention was immediately latched on to a head of bright orange wisps, and a pair of chocolate, russet orbs. A flash of red instantly appeared; a cascade of crimson locks tied into a vivid ponytail drew a tiny gasp from her lips; those red strands fell down a bare chest, with shirt slightly opened, and black tattoos trailing down the smooth, tanned skin.

She squinted her eyes.

Two men, tall and apparently well-muscled, stood near the entrance of the airport, with brown eyes wandering. Their expensive Italian suits and stern, yet austere complexions displayed a distinct air of perplexity that Rukia was, surprisingly, a stranger to. If not their slightly more attractive attire, then certainly their handsomely appealing atmosphere was what drew the raven-haired girl into their presence. Rukia--being the very bold and inquisitive girl she was--straightened herself, and began to approach the two gentlemen.

'_Forget the Starbucks coffee.'_

Suddenly, it seemed, matters were about to become quite interesting.

**

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**

"Ichigo."

"..."

"Ichi--"

"..."

"--go."

"Shut the fuck up."

"Oi," The red-head growled. "Why the fuck are we standing here? Shouldn't we be trying to find her?"

"Miss Rukia is bound to come here," The younger man replied. "If we stay by the entrance, she'll arrive eventually, so shut up and be quiet."

Renji adjusted the dark sunglasses situated on his head, scrunching his nose in irritation. "I don't like the looks these fuckers are giving me."

"Ignore them."

"I'd fuck each and every one of them up," He spat, while glaring at some poor, droopy-eyed businessman who quickly hurried on his way. "...if there wasn't so much goddamn security in this shithole."

"You can't act this way in Rukia-san's presence," Ichigo warned, directing an equally petrifying glare at his crimson-haired partner. "You talk shit like this and I'll fuck you up myself."

"Well, ya finally grew some balls, eh, Ichi? Where did this sudden anger come from?"

"If I don't kill you, I'll make sure Shiba-san gets the job done. I'm serious; if you--"

"Settle down, you little fuck. I won't do anything to embarrass myself."

"That's hard to believe," Ichigo retorted. "I'm warning you not to say a word. I don't want Rukia-san to have a bad impression of us."

"Heh," Renji chuckled. "Are ya turning soft for this chick, Ichi?"

Ichigo did not reply immediately, but continued to observe the place for a certain lavender-eyed girl. The photo of Miss Rukia his _Oyabun_ had given him a few days before was placed in his hand, and he glanced down at it every now and then while his eyes shifted across the building. Quickly, however, his partner snatched the photo from his grip, and smirked, "Well, I don't blame ya, Ichi, 'cause this girl is fuckin' hot. Damn, look at that face; I wouldn't mind taking her to my bed--"

Ichigo quickly shot a blow to the stomach of his partner, eliciting a shocked groan from the red-head who bent his back slightly, but was careful enough not to draw any attention from the people nearby.

"Fuck...!" He whispered.

"Apologize." Ichigo demanded.

"For what?"

"You just insulted Boss's family. Apologize."

"What the fuck do you care, ya goddamn pussy..." Renji gritted his teeth, furious.

"I don't want her to view the Yakuza in a negative light. I'll blow your brains out if you say any shit to her face."

"Heh, yer such a fuckin' pussy." Renji swiftly collected himself, snarling at his partner. "I'm gonna rip you a new asshole once we get back."

"You're full of empty promises," Ichigo scowled. "If you kept your word more frequently, then maybe I would have more respect for you."

"And, ya ought to learn yer place, Ichi. I can send ya straight back to the slums anytime I want." Renji smirked, recollecting himself and pulling out a cigarette. "Once Boss is gone and you have no one's lap to sit in, just watch what I'll do to ya."

A flash of fire burst from the lighter and Renji inhaled deeply, with that inane shit-eating grin still plastered over his face.

Although Ichigo was long noted for his near-impeccable calmness of mind and manners, it was times like these when his oaf of a partner really succeeded in driving him off into a state of bursting insanity. He had felt veins pop plenty of times, but, oh, how he wanted to draw that hidden dagger from his coat pocket and slit the red-head's throat. However...

"Um, excuse me."

The sudden burning sense of anger--and desire to pull out his dagger--quickly escaped from Ichigo as he turned around to meet a girl, a dazzling lass with short, ebony hair, graced with big, beautiful, lavender eyes, and pink bubblegum lips...more than a full foot shorter than him.

Renji released a whistle from his lips as his eyebrow cocked in astonishment, eyes gazing down at the girl before him. He had to admit that he was overtly impressed; this young lady who suddenly appeared, dressed in a white dress shirt, black pencil skirt lined with red lace, and with her shimmering hair tied in a loose French twist, exhibited that very appealing, yet _very_ sexed-up look the red-head liked in his women.

He couldn't help but inch closer to her and ask, "Are you Miss Rukia?"

"I am." She smiled. "And you two are my escorts, I presume?"

"Yes." Ichigo replied kindly, quite impressed by her Japanese intonation. "I am Kurosaki Ichigo, and this is my partner, Abarai Renji."

The red-head tilted his head slightly. "Welcome to Tokyo, Miss Rukia."

"Well, thank you very much. And, please, do drop the honorifics. I just go by 'Rukia'. Also..." She suddenly lifted herself up, toward her orange-haired host, and landed a soft kiss on his cheek, which immediately flushed rose-pink. Ichigo flinched; he had not expected such a gesture, and certainly not for his body to react that way.

"Sorry to break your Japanese sense of reserve, but..." She then kissed the red-head's cheek. "...I was raised in France, and this is simply how we greet each other."

The two men looked at each other as Renji touched his cheek, clearly bewildered by that display of such...openness. Obviously, they both agreed, this girl would be an interesting specimen to add in the Kuchiki household.

Now, if they could both stop blushing...

**

* * *

**

"Kurosaki-san." The black-haired lass spoke up, still hugging her bags. She wiped the beads of sweat that ran down her forehead, and slightly unbuttoned her shirt to relish the outside breeze--much to Renji's excitement (of course), and Ichigo's consternation. "Will we be stopping again any time soon?"

Ichigo glanced back at her, hands gripping the steering wheel, with a breeze from the window ruffling his bright, vivid hair.

He truly, after wandering around Shibuya for an eternity, wanted to refuse her; they had stopped plenty of times already, once for some souvenirs, twice for ice cream and cake, and also for a giant-sized teddy bear that Rukia supposedly could not resist buying. They felt like fools while following her around in the malls; it was definitely work that two Yakuza lieutenants despised, for it soiled their reputation to be seen in a Hello Kitty shop buying stuffed kittens for their Boss's sister-in-law. As it turned out, Rukia came to love Japan to death, though disappointed that she could not pay for anything using Euros. Renji, on the other hand, was completely flushed out of his money. Despite how pretty and feminine she looked, Renji was beginning to fume. Had Rukia not promised to repay him, he would have--being a typical Yakuza lieutenant--thrown her into a ditch and buried her alive.

"Well, we should be headed straight to the mansion." Ichigo replied. "Kuchiki-san has been waiting for you."

"But, I want to stop."

An obfuscated look dragged itself across Renji's face as he turned to face the girl in the back seat. "Are you feeling ill?" He asked with a bit of concern in his voice, though his eyes were fixated mostly on her cleavage.

"No, just hungry again."

"Ah, well, we'll have the cooks offer you something to eat once we--"

"Can't you stop now, and pull up to a nearby cafe? I see plenty around here." Rukia said.

"Well..." Ichigo glanced back at his partner, who was equally bewildered by her lack of modesty. Who knew such a delicate-looking girl acted so much like Boss himself. They had known each other for roughly an hour, and already she was beginning to display the austerity that was not expected of a girl. "...I suppose we could take another break."

"Oh, wonderful." Rukia beamed. "Are there any cafes that serve croissants or crepes? I haven't had those in ages..."

"_Croissant_?" Renji whispered to his partner, eyebrow lifted. "What the hell is that?"

"I think it's a bread."

"Why the hell does she want to stop for bread? Is that some French shit we don't know about?"

"I'll just stop for a little bit and appease her. And, shut your mouth."

Their crimson Mercedes Benz pulled up to a crowded plaza as Rukia gazed in awe at the soaring buildings lined with lights and brilliant glass windows, with huge, colorful displays of Givenchy and Juicy Couture ads looming over the bustling streets. Before Ichigo could step out to open the car door for Rukia, she had already scampered off into the nearest cafe, still holding onto her black suitcase.

"Shit..." Renji snapped as he slammed the car door shut, hurrying over to her. "Rukia...!"

After dodging a couple of speeding cars, the red-head caught up with the black-haired lass before she could enter into _Le Cafe_. "Rukia..." He glanced down at her. "Oi, do you want me to take yer bag for you?"

"Oh no." Rukia replied, opening the door as a warm scent of coffee beans welcomed her inside. "I'm a feminist; I'll hold onto my own bag."

With that, she quickly slid into a booth and removed her laptop from the suitcase, situating it on the table. As Renji watched her, Ichigo soon arrived, panting, and asked, "Where is she?"

"Right over there." Renji replied, pointing over to the booth where Rukia sat. In approximately 2.27 minutes, Rukia had already set up her laptop, placed an order, and typed a full paragraph on the Word document she had opened.

Her two escorts followed her into the booth, though somewhat irritated about the whispers and gasps that emerged once they appeared. Renji growled, while Ichigo ignored the onlookers' typical reactions, and settled down across from the young girl, who was evidently riveted onto her work.

"Rukia." Ichigo said. "How long will it take until you finish your--"

"Not too long," Rukia interjected, eyes still pinned to the computer screen. "Be a dear and wait. I just remembered I have to finish this article and submit it to my editor before this evening."

Renji gazed at her. "You're a writer?" A waitress arrived and settled three glasses of water onto the table, which Rukia thanked her for.

"Yes," she said, sipping the cool, crisp liquid she so longed for after sixteen stifling hours sitting on a plane and running around Tokyo. "I work for _Le Monde Diplomatique_, _Liberation_, and _National Geographic_, though my income mostly comes from the novels and essays I write."

"Hrm, those are mostly French." Ichigo remarked as Renji excused himself to answer his cellphone which suddenly began ringing. The ginger-head nodded while his partner left the cafe. Wanting to break the awkward air of the silence, and at the same time distract himself from the uninviting glares of the onlookers, asked, "Were you born in France?"

"No," Rukia replied. "I was born in Quebec, but my father--adoptive father--was one of those traveling merchants, so we moved to South Africa, then to Berlin, Paris, Montreal, Calais, and for some time I went to school in Geneva, Switzerland." Her eyes glimmered as she looked up to meet the chocolate orbs of her ginger-headed escort. "After that we moved to Moscow; I went to university in Cambridge, and now my father has settled in London, while I live in a quaint, little city in France."

Ichigo could have sworn to have noticed her eyes sparkle as she spoke. But, perhaps it was the lighting.

"So, you've been everywhere in Europe."

Rukia smiled as a steaming cup of chocolate latte and a plate of banana cake were placed on the table before her. "Yes, well, it was tiring to say the least. I'm just glad I've settled down before my peers."

"Ah, and how old are you?"

"21."

Ichigo gulped in sheer disbelief. _'The fuck?' _This woman looked no older than sixteen; on top of that, she carried herself like any typical undergraduate with her bag full of books and pink-rimmed Prada eyeglasses. But, he figured he should have known; Miss Rukia, young and delicate she may have appeared, nevertheless dragged around an aura of poise and prudence wherever she walked.

"So, how old are you?" Rukia asked while sipping her latte.

"25."

"My, you're so young."

"I suppose in this business it is considered young."

"Ah, and what business is that?" She asked.

Ichigo gazed down at her, mouth opening slightly. "Kuchiki-san...he never told you what we do?"

"No, why?" Rukia asked. "Should he have?"

"No, no." Ichigo replied. "Nevermind..."

"So, what is it you do for a living, Kurosaki-san?"

"Ah..." He sighed, peering over her shoulder to watch his partner saunter back into the cafe. "...just some diplomatic services."

"Interesting." Rukia swirled her coffee with a spoon. "Hrm, I do have a degree in political science. That reminds me--"

"Ah, sorry," Ichigo interrupted, rising from his seat. "I have to take care of some quick business, so please excuse me."

The ginger-head tilted his head and walked over to meet his partner, who quickly gripped onto his sleeve. "What's going on?" Ichigo asked.

"The _fuku-honbucho's_ out there." Renji replied.

"Him? He should know better than to meet with us out in this plaza."

"Yeah, well go ahead and tell him that, Ichi."

"What about her?"

"Who?"

"Rukia-san."

"Leave her there," Renji scoffed, looking over at the raven-haired girl, who was once again occupied with work on her laptop. "And, I'll watch her pretty, little ass."

"Watch it." Ichigo threatened as Renji held up his hands in an expression of innocence. "I'll get this done quickly so we can get back to Boss. I'm warning you not to do any stupid shit in front of Rukia."

"Cool yerself, Ichi. I'm not gonna do anything."

"Better not. I'm making this quick just so we can get the fuck out of here."

"Go on." The red-head chuckled, and Ichigo, with an irritated sigh, stepped out the cafe and into the bustling plaza. In an instant he caught sight of a head of light blue hair, and glistening cerulean eyes that penetrated through the crowd. Features such as those were difficult to ignore, and without fail elicited both gasps and whispers from the dazzled spectators that walked by the _fuku_-_honbucho_--the notorious regional boss.

The blue-haired man's grin stretched across his face as Ichigo approached him standing by his coveted black Infiniti, and he smugly said, "Oi, long time no see, baby face."

"What do you want, Grimmjow?" Ichigo snapped, wanting to waste no time. "And, hurry. I have business to attend to."

"Aw, c'mon. What a shitty way to greet me, Ichi, after all I've done for you."

"You've fucked me up for life is what you've done."

"I wouldn't say that, Ichi. I'm the one that keeps your life from gettin' even more fucked up."

"What the hell do you want?" Ichigo demanded again.

Grimmjow glared at the youngster, sapphire eyes glistening coolly. "Heh, do ya even have to ask? You know what I want from you."

The ginger-head sighed in defeat, and--with a pause--tilted his neck in concession, though within he wanted nothing more than to strangle that blue-haired son of a bitch. He had no idea why Boss ever appointed a man like Grimmjow Jeagerjaques to such a high position in the gang. He was crude, bellicose, and--despite being noted as a good soldier of the Yakuza--the epitome of pure insanity when enraged. Although Zaraki Kenpachi, the Kuchiki-gumi's _So-honbucho, _was just as outrageous in combat, he was not shrouded in mystery like Grimmjow. But, their Boss had taken a liking to the half-Japanese, half-French mobster, who had extensive ties in Italy, France, and the United States, and thus he was placed on a golden throne in the Yakuza hierarchy--meaning perpetual trouble for Ichigo.

"I thought so; a fucker like you didn't come all the way here just to insult me again." Ichigo pulled out a thick envelope from the inside of his suit, and tossed it into the hands of Grimmjow, who caught it instantly. "Is that all?"

"Sure, I trust ya, Ichi." He smirked. "You know if you didn't get the amount right that I'd fuck you up. Speaking of which," Grimmjow stuffed the envelope into his own pocket. "Your little sisters and that old goat face are doin' fine, so pull that stick out of yer ass and cheer up."

"Are you positive, Grimmjow?"

"If my reports aren't accurate and they turn out dead, then I give you permission to snap my neck. How 'bout that, Ichi?" Grimmjow chuckled as he climbed into his car.

"I'd snap your neck without your permission." Ichigo retorted while watching Grimmjow drive off, holding his middle finger up as a classic gesture of farewell.

"Fucker..." Ichigo snarled under his breath.

**

* * *

**

The day dragged on into the late, sun-kissed afternoon as Rukia, so entranced by the beauty and liveliness of inner Tokyo, explored almost ever corner of the district while hauling around six to seven huge shopping bags of candies, jewelry, and other items that both Ichigo and Renji naturally deplored. But, Rukia loved them. She also, as it turned out, loved to eat all brands of sweets--anything that guaranteed a toothache. It was a true mystery as to how Miss Rukia was able to maintain her slim figure, and her pearly teeth as well.

By the end of the day, Rukia had extracted a grand total of 65, 528 yen from both Ichigo and Renji's wallets; it was concluded that this woman was a mad shopaholic, aside from harboring serious attraction towards cartoon bunnies.

Her escorts were equally exhausted once they plopped into the car, but pumped enough energy to drive back to the Kuchiki mansion, which was situated in the quiet outskirts of Shinjuku. Once they arrived and drove past the steel gates, the sun was already sinking beneath the towering trees of the Kuchiki garden, its last rays of light dispersing into the dark ether above.

"Rukia, we're here." Ichigo whispered to the young lady, who did not respond at first. "Rukia..."

He walked out to open the door for her, and before he could open his mouth to speak, paused to look down at a petite figure resting upon her bags, with eyes closed, pink lips slightly opened.

She had fallen asleep.

Ichigo stepped back, about to turn his heel, but his eyes--though tired--remained riveted on the girl before him. Rukia-san, quite frankly, looked utterly angelic in deep slumber. Slumber, meaning when she was not shopping, typing, reading, or arguing with her editor. Throughout their immense shopping spree in inner Tokyo, Rukia had been alternating between sliding back and forth through shops and screaming at--or enduring the screams of--her poor editor.

It was not that Rukia was unattractive while awake; to be frank, the little lady's looks charmed any man who laid eyes on her. But, with her eyes shut and rosy cheeks paled, an air of tranquility traced around her. For once, Ichigo actually thought of Rukia to be...approachable. For a few moments he could do nothing but stare at her slim, delicate figure resting in the back seat.

"Oi, Ichigo."

_'It's the baboon again.'_

"Ichigo, what the fuck are ya doing?" Renji ambled over to his partner. "Oi, Ichi--"

"Shhh..." Ichigo quickly replied, careful not to wake her. "Shut your mouth; she's sleeping."

"What?" Renji asked while looming over the car and peeking inside to see Rukia lying above a mass of luggage and over-sized shopping bags. "How the hell..."

"Too much running around for today, I think."

"Well, wake her up and get her inside."

"Are you fuckin' stupid? I'm not waking her up." Ichigo snapped.

"She's not an infant, dumbass," Renji retorted. "Get 'er up."

"No."

"Then carry her inside."

"Fuck off, asshole. I'm not doing that either."

"I'll carry her inside."

"Tch," Ichigo spat, shutting the car door. "And let you possibly molest her? Forget it; I'll wait for her until she stirs."

"Oi, don't be any more of a pussy, asshole. Get 'er inside--"

"--Kurosaki-kun! Renji-kun!" A sudden voice chirped through the silence. The two men broke from their minor quarrel and turned to find the house servant, a little black-haired girl, running towards them, her eyes filling with tears.

"Hinamori-chan..." Renji spoke. "Yo, what's up?"

Tears spilled from her doleful eyes as she approached the two lieutenants; her hands were quivering, her face as pale as winter's snowfall. And, in the girl's hands was a bloodied handkerchief, which she gripped onto for dear life.

Ichigo walked to her, asking, "Are you alright? Have you been bleeding, Hinamori?"

"No, I-I haven't..." She stammered, unable to collect herself. "But, Kuchiki-sama....he...he..."

"What happened to Boss, Hinamori?" Ichigo asked, his voice filling with urgency. "Hinamori, calm yourself and answer me. What happened while we were gone?"

"Kuchiki-sama..." She sniffled and held her hands to her frozen cheeks. "...H-he died."

Renji's eyes widened in disbelief as he stared down at the sobbing girl. No one was able to say anything, for the sudden news of their _Oyabun's_ death blasted each lieutenant with a horrible, icy blow; _he was gone_.

_'Shit.'_

They were too late.

An abrupt noise stirred from inside the Mercedes as a pair of long legs glided out of the car, crimson stilettos lightly tapping the concrete, and a young women with her shirt slightly unbuttoned at the chest emerged. Rukia's brilliant, lavender eyes glimmered as she lifted a hand to ruffled her silken hair, and she, approaching the two motionless lieutenants, asked, "Did I miss anything?"

**TO BE CONTINUED...**

* * *

This chapter was long....  
Yep, I don't know if you all prefer long chapters or short chapters, so please do tell me :)

And, of course, I add a few notes to top off a good read:

1) _So-Honbucho_--Headquarters boss  
2) _Fuku-Honbucho_--Regional Boss

Any questions? Ask, and please review, loves :)


	3. Tinder & Spark

**'TINDER & SPARK'**

* * *

**Author's notes: **Since most of my reviewers told me they favored long chapters, here one is :D It's my longest so far, and do expect the length to increase; my ideas are bursting all over, and it's incredible. I do have a lot to offer for the readers who plan to follow this story, and, of course, anyone is welcome to hop on the _Black Champagne_ bandwagon.

Also, I apologize if my last chapter was a bit slow and didn't harbor enough IchiRuki-ness, but this chapter kind of gets it all going (there _is_ a squeal moment ;p), so please read, and enjoy, loves.

* * *

**June 20th  
Tokyo, Japan**

"Miss Rukia..."

"..."

"I-I'm so sorry; I didn't know."

"It's okay."

"No, I apologize a million times! That was awfully rude of me, and I'm sorry--"

"Like I said--"

"Please forgive me, Miss Rukia!"

"Hinamori--"

Glittering, lavender eyes quickly scanned the interior of the dimly lit Japanese mansion, and turned downward to view the young, black-haired maid bowing her head in urgent reverence. Here Rukia was, standing in the doorway of a magnificently crafted mansion, with her shirt ruffled, cleavage exposed, hair thrown in all different directions, and red lipstick smeared over a pair of plump lips. It was no surprise that the little maid, Hinamori Momo--brimming with her endearing naivete--had mistaken Rukia for a prostitute.

But, Rukia was quick to forgive, and the residents of the Kuchiki mansion were, in turn, quick to accept the young lady into the househould. Quite frankly, the astonished servants, who were mesmerized at first glance when initially approaching the dazzling, delicate lass, believed the overall incident to be somewhat...bittersweet.

Although their leader and godfather, Byakuya Kuchiki, had passed away so soon (about an hour after Rukia's arrival; there was no way for them to have met, anyway), in his place arrived a beautiful young woman who appeared to be the exact, physical carbon copy of their beloved, late _Onee-san_--Hisana Kuchiki.

There was reason to be joyous, and some of the younger maids actually began to shed tears of both sorrow and joy--sorrow for the passing of their remarkable _Oyabun_, and joy for the four foot, ten inch blessing that had just arrived. Rukia, on the other hand, was confused as hell.

"Kurosaki-san." She whispered over to her ginger-headed escort.

"Yes, Rukia." The lieutenant replied.

"Did I do something wrong?"

"I beg pardon?" His eyebrow cocked.

"I'm just really confused; why is everyone crying? Did I upset them?"

Ichigo shifted his eyes about to view the weeping spectators, and, in one swift wave of the hand, dispersed them back to their duties. The servants complied, lifting Rukia's belongings away, and leaving the raven-haired lady alone with her escort in the foyer.

Ichigo turned to Rukia, and gave a simple smile, saying, "They're just glad you're here."

Indeed they were.

She was offered a cozy room in the upstairs, which was most certainly prepared for her arrival. The three-story mansion overlooked the bright, colored lights of Shinjuku, allowing a magnificent view of the evening sky, as well.

Crystal, cool water splashed onto Rukia's face, as she proceeded to wipe the crimson paint off her lips, and refresh herself after a long, sunbaked day. She slipped into a clean, white T-shirt and black shorts, situated her pearly, white-rimmed glasses on her nose, and glided out into the vacant halls of the Kuchiki mansion, determined to find some food as well as a quiet place to begin typing.

Solace would evade the young lady, however, once the servants caught sight of her in those scanty shorts. Though Renji himself placed no complaint on her evening attire, the lanky, droopy-eyed servant boy--Yamada Hanatarou--who was assigned to serve the new arrival, nearly suffered a stroke once he caught sight of her smooth, bare legs.

"What's your name again?" Rukia asked, not quite knowing what was wrong with the young boy, but eager to see his flustered face blush a million shades of pink. "I didn't quite catch that."

"Uhh..." He groaned, shielding his eyes with a single hand. "I'm H-Hanatarou...."

"Hanatarou, eh?" Rukia smiled, reaching out her hand to suddenly grab his own. "You may address me as Rukia--"

The boy quickly flinched, reacting to the extended hand as if it were a malicious, growling beast. "Uhh, sorry...!"

"Is something wrong?"

"No, no, it's just that..." He, despite being such a virginal figure, gave into temptation, and peered down at her slick, slim legs again. "Sorry...I've never shaken hands with a g-girl before."

"Oh, well..." She quickly--playfully--snatched his hand, and said, "Now you have, Hanatarou."

"Uhhh..." He blushed violently, silently cursing his traitorous body, and whispered, "By the way...are you...allowed to wear those?"

He blindly pointed to her shorts with a quivering finger.

"Well, I hope so," Rukia replied nonchalantly. "It's over a hundred degrees out there. I believe a girl has the right to enjoy herself."

"Yes, but, uhhh..." He bit his lip down to keep blood from inundating his racing, pounding heart. "...uh, but, uh...if _Onee_-_san_ sees you, then...Miss Rukia...?"

Before he could finish his whisper of a statement, Rukia had already ambled down the corridor, eyes shifting about to view the portraits lined neatly against the wooden walls.

"Miss Rukia..." Hanatarou meekly said. "Uhh...I said..."

"Who is this?" Rukia quickly interjected while pointing up to a large portrait encircled within a golden frame. Hanatarou looked up, following her finger, to find his dim eyes locked upon a head of ebony, silken locks. The figure in the portrait--graceful, poised, dark--sitting neatly with his pale hands rested in his lap, exhibited the delicate qualities that meant blessings for a female, yet he was not a woman. Far from a woman, actually--it was their _Oyabun_ himself. His features, so pure and unblemished, were too beautiful to be defined as manly; yet the stern glare he harbored, and those broad shoulders, and strong, polished cheekbones were masculine enough to make any girl fall for him.

Such was Rukia, who gazed admiringly at the handsome figure above. She turned to Hanatarou and asked, "Who is this gentleman?"

He looked at her, quite puzzled, but obediently answered, "Uhh...that's Kuchiki-sama, he's the master of this household. Well, _late_...master."

Rukia smiled, a wave of realization washing over her. "My, my." She said, eyes still locked onto the portrait. "So, that's my brother-in-law. He's quite a strapping spectacle."

"R-Rukia-san...!" Hanatarou gasped. "You-you can't say that here...!"

"What? Why not?"

The boy went pale; it was as though a phantom appeared right before his eyes. "That's your sister's former husband; and it's our Onee-san's husband, too. On top of that, she's right in this house; my god, that's almost blasphemous!"

"Calm yourself," Rukia replied, her voice serene as ever. "All I did was compliment his looks; I mean, he _is_ handsome."

"Uhh, Rukia-san." Hanatarou sighed. "Please...it just..."

"That doesn't mean I want sex with every handsome man I see," Rukia stated, quite bluntly. "And, besides, I've said much worse things before."

With that, she turned her heel to further explore the corridors, leaving Hanatarou perplexed and breathless. What a woman, and, goodness gracious, what a mouth, too. She was certainly unlike any modest Japanese girl he had ever met, and most definitely unlike their deceased Onee-san, who was praised for her motherly attributes and delicate demeanor. Rukia, on the other hand--though airy, and resplendent-looking--had a tongue as sharp and frosty as ice.

"And, Hanatarou?" She called out to him, voice filled with mirth. "Is there any food in this house?"

That was just the beginning, though.

As Rukia walked down the halls, something, a dark figure, stopped her in her tracks. Almost immediately, Rukia began to clench down at the book she held in her grip, as if a gust of icy wind blasted right through her very being. Not a sudden tempest, but rather an entity--a beautiful, dark-skinned entity--appeared instantly as she turned the corner. It was enough to make her halt, and her blood freeze, as a pair of sharp, emerald orbs pierced through Rukia's soul.

Thumping sounds of Hanatarou's footsteps approached, and, once he met Rukia, instantaneously bent down in the presence of the dark-skinned woman.

"Good evening, Onee-sama." He said unhesitantly, tilting his head.

_'Onee-sama?'_

As Rukia peered upwards at the "_Onee-sama_", her face suddenly flushed. Never before had she seen a woman so gaudy and exorbitantly dressed; her golden, blonde hair cascaded in shimmering wisps down to her full, bursting bosom, and even her fingers were decorated with intricate, jeweled rings and sparkling trinkets. The woman's kimono was painted with extravagant, vibrant colors, the soft fabrics swishing as she moved slowly. She had a sharp, thin nose and the most tantalizing green eyes Rukia had ever laid eyes on, fully accentuated with feathery eyelashes as thick and black as the night sky. She was beautiful--yes, indeed, she was most certainly beautiful--but something about her staggered; actually, it stank (not literally; she also happened to be accompanied by a massive cloud of perfume). There was something about her, something sterile, something stagnant and humdrum about the exquisiteness the woman tried to exhibit. By anyone's standards, she was beautiful; by Rukia's standards, however, she was a bitch.

"Pleased to meet you," Rukia said, offering a small curtsy. "My name is Rukia."

The woman glared at her, emerald eyes gleaming, and said, "Yes, I have heard."

"Thank you for inviting me into your house, madame--"

"Halibel." She sharply interjected. "I expect to be called that. I do not like being addressed as 'Onee-sama.'"

Hanatarou lowered his head as if to apologize, as Rukia nodded, quite unimpressed by her attitude, but maintained the utmost respect for her host--even if it annoyed her to do so.

"Of course, Madame Halibel. I thank you again for the invitation."

"Yes, well..." The woman directed her gaze elsewhere. "You are family, after all."

After that, she left, with a little maid following after her, leaving a very bewildered Rukia standing there. Although their "meeting" was short, to Rukia it was just painful to have encountered such a woman whose lavishness and and ego oozed from every pore. She hated that; she hated women who looked like they were living, breathing rococo sculptures, but in all actuality belonged in a burlesque theatre entertaining drunken, swine-like men.

And so, Rukia was left to wonder how a woman such as the one she just encountered--who looked like a genuine prostitute--was able to marry someone as respectable as her brother-in-law. Trophy wife, perhaps? That seemed awfully uncharacteristic of Byakuya Kuchiki. But, Rukia did not care for _her_ all that much; she needed food, and quick, in addition to some quiet time.

* * *

Quiet, however, did not apply to the two lieutenants, who were once again locked in another drug-hunting operation. It became somewhat of a ritual as Ichigo settled near the coffee table, scavenging on his laptop for another pitiful lout who either owed the Yakuza money or had done some unforgiveable, despicable crime against the gang. Renji, however, was once again running his mouth like an electric motor--no surprise there, as he was the muscle, and someone else had to be the brain.

"Damn, Ichi, you should have seen them two down there about to blow each other's heads off." Renji smirked as he puffed out a billow of smoke from his mouth while viewing the lights of Tokyo from the parlour. "It was fuckin' intense."

"I don't even know what you're talking about." Ichigo replied, quite apathetically, as his eyes were fixated on the laptop screen.

"I'm talkin' about Halibel and that new chick...what the fuck is her name?"

"Rukia."

"Yeah, her. Heh, any new chick that comes in here, Halibel's gonna fuck her up." The red-head inhaled, lips smacking the cigarette. "It was fuckin' hot, though, to see that Rukia chick in her shorts. Damn, you know she has the face of a Japanese, but a European girl's demeanor."

Ichigo sighed while trying to tune out his partner's mindless sputtering of words. He traced the map on the laptop screen, clicking, clicking, and clicking--frustrated. Damn it to hell.

"Fuck."

"What the hell's wrong with you?" Renji impulsively asked.

"I can't seem to locate this fucker's residential area. Renji," He turned around to face his partner. "Are you sure you gave me the right information on him?"

"Yeah, I caught him just the other day. I would have killed that motherfucker myself, but I figured a pussy like you only wanted to interrogate him, so I let him run off."

"You're too brash," Ichigo sighed, russet eyes glaring. "You know you jeopardize this delicate business when you go around seeking pure bloodshed."

"And, you know you never get any fuckin' thing done when you act like a fuckin' woman." Renji retorted, chuckling. "I'm the boss of this operation, Ichi, so settle yer ass down."

"Shit." Ichigo tossed the papers out of his hand in frustration--anger he never failed to conceive when around his lousy baboon of a partner. "Fuckin' useless shit. Then, he's gone."

"Don't get all moody, asshole. Just because I threatened him, doesn't--"

A quick swipe of the hand knocked the burning cigarette right out of Renji's mouth, and in an instant, he was pinned to the wall, Ichigo's robust arm pressing against the red-head's chest. Glistening russet orbs pierced right through Renji's gaze, and, in his shock, the latter could not speak.

"You fucker." Ichigo growled, his grip tightening. "You lost him, you know that--"

"What, Ichi? Are you gonna kill me? 'Cause you had plenty of chances before; what's gonna make you succeed this time?"

"You fuckin' lost him...!This gang's eatin' nothing but shit because of you--"

Before he could continue, and before Renji could retaliate, the parlour door creaked open, and a looming, suave, black-haired figure stepped in, saying, "Woah, what's happening here? A little quarrel?"

Ichigo swiftly released his clenched hand and turned around to face the intruder, their superior, actually--Kaien Shiba.

"_Saiko-komon_." Ichigo said, tilting his head. "Sorry for the noise."

The dark-haired man simply smiled when he crept in, bending down to pick up the scrunched-up cigarette, and handed it back to Renji. "I believe this is your's, Abarai."

The red-head nodded, plucking the burned-out cigarette from his superior's grasp. Kaien Shiba--the Kuchiki-gumi's senior advisor and the _Oyabun's_ right hand man--was a figure who climbed all the way to the top of the Yakuza ladder with his slick charisma and expedient brilliance. Naturally, it was appropriate for the two lieutenants to bow their head in his presence--even slightly.

Kaien chuckled and settled down on the sofa, calmly pouring himself a glass of Brandy. "Yes, Kurosaki-kun," He smirked. "I've been wondering the same thing: why haven't you killed Abarai, yet?"

"Sir..." Ichigo began, but was unable to finish.

"It's alright, Kurosaki, I know you're frustrated, but try not to kill Abarai while you're in the parlour; you'd dirty the entire room." Kaien brushed his hair back and loosened his tie, slipping it off. "And, there's no need for violence, anyhow. I know the whereabouts of the man you're looking for."

"Really?" Renji asked. "How did you--"

"Well, my method of tracking him down was quite simple." He pulled out a thick, leather wallet from his suit pocket and set it down on the crystalline coffee table. "Marechiyo Omaeda, correct? I believe he owes the Kuchiki-gumi some money, as well as some precious substances."

"You stole this from him?"

"Well, I wouldn't say I _stole_ his wallet," Kaien smirked. "I carefully _fished_ it from his possession, using one of my lovely ladies."

"Heh," Renji spat. "I knew that old horn dog couldn't keep himself from fuckin' up."

"Kurosaki," Kaien began. "There you have it, so try not to attack your partner again. There's only one Renji Abarai, you know." He lifted his glass of Brandy and rose from the sofa. "I can't seem to find a single day when you two are not arguing. It's quite sad, to be honest. And, besides, what would Miss Rukia think if she saw you two like this?"

Ichigo, turned his head, astonished, though his complexion remained frozen in place. "You met her?"

"No, not yet, but of course I have heard of her while I conversed with Kuchiki-san."

"She doesn't know what business we occupy ourselves with, sir." The ginger-head said. "I don't think we'd be very successful keeping it a secret from her; she's very...shrewd."

"Don't worry about that, now, Kurosaki." Kaien replied, collected as always. "I think you ought to focus on getting those substances back, and showing Mr. Omaeda what happens when he treats the Kuchiki-gumi as his private, little bank."

"Yes, sir." Ichigo replied sternly, and proceeded to head for the door as he turned his heel.

"Wait." His red-headed partner called to him. "Where the hell are ya goin' off to now?"

"Rest. I'm tired of running around with you." And so the ginger-head left, leaving Kaien and his partner in the vacancy of the parlour. A scarlet flame flared from Renji's lighter, and he lit another cigarette with gleaming eyes looking out to view the night sky.

"Youngsters," Kaien smirked, sipping his glass of clear, russet liquid. "He's an intriguing fellow. Try not to tear him apart so soon, Abarai."

The red-head nodded.

_Vooosh...!_

Steaming water burst from the shower head and flooded the ginger-haired lieutenant with balmy, refreshing rain. Ichigo sighed, relieved to finally allow his muscles to relax, and his mind to rest, though not for long--of course. Nothing ever really stopped for him; never, as long as he held power within the gang. Time was a blessing, indeed, something he learned to cherish, though it dispersed as quickly as the delicate billows of steam formed in the shower.

However, time hated him and his cursed presence.

Ichigo's hand rose to touch the tender sheet of skin on his backside; it hurt, it was sore. Burning droplets of water cascaded down, nearly searing the scar that was engraved into his smooth, bare skin.

"Fuck." Ichigo cursed under his breath. It really hurt like hell, but who could he complain to?

This whole ordeal, since the eruption of the last drug war following up to the death of the Kuchiki-gumi's godfather, was spinning out of anyone's control. First he had unleashed Barragan Luisenbarn's wrath once again, and next the cargos of drugs vanished from their warehouse. To make matters worse, the _So-honbucho's_ daughter was mercilessly slaughtered, and the newcomer, Rukia--quite an enigma, too--was in danger. Hell, she didn't even have any idea what was happening behind her back, and Ichigo was expected to safeguard her on behalf of Byakuya's wishes.

_'Fuck.'_

Globules of water slowly dripped from the shower head as Ichigo, hand on the dial, tilted his head. He needed time to think, air to breathe--silence for just a moment.

He had business to take care of soon, yes, with that blubbering oaf--Marechiyo Omaeda. On top of that, he had to settle some problems with that blue-haired fuck, who was probably on another plane to New York. Who else, who else...?

_Creak..._

Ichigo did not realize at first, when he had his eyes closed, that the silence he so craved would be gone in an instant. It took a while for him to recollect his normal, functioning state of mind, but it wasn't quick enough. Standing at the threshold, with her night gown and bunny slippers on, and hair tied in a bun, was Rukia--correction: a very, _very red_ Rukia.

"Uh..." Was all she managed to utter. But, that mumble was all that was needed for Ichigo's mind to snap back in place, and his eyes to flash open.

His eyes darted across the bathroom to see Rukia standing there, her face completely flushed pink. She saw, in less than a second, her escort's lean, naked form, resting against the wall. Though it appeared to her in a flash, the image of his smooth, muscular arms, those brilliant tattoos, and perfectly tanned skin accompanied by the pleasant glimmer of the water, lingered in her mind. Such perfection of physical form, as considered by Rukia, rendered her utterly breathless for a moment; how marvelous he looked with his vivid hair tussled by the showering rain, and how shapely his backside (no joke; she saw his ass) appeared as his back tilted slightly. Strange, indeed, how Rukia had not noticed before that her escort was, with all respect, genuine eye-candy.

It was all astonishing, yet somewhat pleasing to Rukia. She had no qualms seeing a handsome man's naked form, being an open-minded, yet sexually-deprived virgin (surprisingly, but it was Urahara Kisuke who threatened her if she ever "did the deed"), however, for the disrobed ginger-haired lieutenant, he had _many_ qualms with being seen naked.

He had many qualms, indeed.

_'Shit.'_

"R-Rukia...!"

"Oh, I-I'm so sorry...!" She stammered, swiftly reaching for the door knob. "I didn't mean to in-intrude, Kurosaki-san...!"

"No, it's--" He cursed under his breath, eyes darting wildly in search of a towel, a robe--anything! Anything to, good god, cover his...err, hanging glands. "Rukia--Jesus fucking..."

"Sorry, again...I thought you were done showering..." With that she shut the door.

"...Christ..." Ichigo murmured, his breathing burdened. He stared blankly at the door for a few moments, his hands still stretched over his manhood, which was equally as shocked as he was. Rukia, on the other hand, continued to stand outside the door, face burning with both stupefaction and fright. She gasped again and again, attempting to mollify the excessive pounding and excited jolts that raced throughout the veins of her body.

"Oh my god..."

Her breaths eventually calmed down once she walked back to her room, though, for some reason, she could not stop smiling. This Ichigo fellow, she concluded, was someone actually worth her attention. More than anything--though she was amused by his reaction--she was stunned; stunned that merely having caught sight of her escort's perfectly-shaped arse made her blood catch fire. But, she had to be honest with herself that that little encounter--seeing his wet, slick skin upon the wall--sent waves of some peculiar, foreign sensation throughout her body.

"Kurosaki..." She whispered, allowing her feverish state to gradually die down. "You're quite the specimen..."

* * *

**June 20th  
****Ravenna, Italy**

The tires of two black-coated Jaguars screeched to a stop outside the grand building of the notorious Italian Mafia boss's home, the headlights dimming within the eerie blackness of night. The door opened, and out emerged a man--quite young, no older than thirty--holding onto his suitcase. He tugged the rim of his hat, pulled his overcoat tighter around him against the evening breeze, and handed the suitcase over to his partner, a peculiar-looking man with silver hair and a wry smile that made any curious spectator cringe in abhorrence.

"Sir." The silver-haired man smirked. "Would you like for me ta take your hat?"

His boss, a tall, well-built man of russet-colored hair and a warm, brown gaze--a gaze that, however, was threatening; it hid poison behind it--smiled back, and said, "Well, thank you."

They entered the mansion, and, despite the Mafia boss's home being decorated like a French Queen's palace, paid no attention to the extravagance; they were here strictly for business. Two men in black suits stood by a closed door, and, once they caught sight of the visitors, bowed in reverence and immediately allowed them to enter.

The brown-haired man ambled calmly into the room, which was even more ornamented than the foyer, and approached the oversized, russet-skinned Italian Boss, who was situated on a bed, with one arm slung over the shoulder of his half-naked mistress, and another arm holding onto a young girl who appeared to be barely past puberty.

Still, the newcomers paid no acknowledgement to his whores, and quickly set down their suitcase on a vacant table.

The silver-haired man smirked once again in strange delight, like a child--a cunning, malevolent offspring of Lucifer himself--and said, "Well, nice ta meet t'cha, Mister Luisenbarn. And, thanks for receivin' us so late in the night."

"Ah, it's no problem," Barragan laughed as his younger mistress slid a robe over his flabby, sweat-stained shoulders. "You came right at a perfect time; I was just finished with one of my girls. You know, this Mafia business..." He abruptly gripped the young girl's chin, and tossed her onto the bed. "...brings the best whores into my bedroom."

The brown-haired man watched apathetically as the young girl fumbled and struggled to keep her clothing on; she appeared as though she wanted to cry, but, of course, it was of no concern to the men.

"Ahh, I seem to be getting old. What are your names again?" Barragan asked.

"Ichimaru Gin." The silver-haired, fox-like man smirked. "And this is my boss, Sousuke Aizen."

The brown-haired man lifted a hand, and slicked back the dangling wisp of hair from his forehead. He smiled, quite amused, though internally disgusted by the Mafia Lord's display of such coarse vulgarity.

"It's an honor to meet you," Aizen said, though his voice was sterile. "We've taken major precautions after arriving here. Yet, despite the trouble we faced while in Italy, I am glad that you ultimately decided to deal with us, Mr. Luisenbarn."

"Yes, yes, well..." The giant oaf chuckled. "I know you control a major branch of the Yakuza in San Francisco. However, you are not allied with the Kuchiki-gumi Confederation in Tokyo, correct?"

"Our relationship, to be frank, has been strained since the last time my father and Ginrei Kuchiki were alive." Aizen remarked. "As of now, we have completely broken off from the Yakuza; we're independent, and we take pride in dealing with stronger organizations all across the United States. To call us Yakuza, after all the conflict between our families..."

"...Would be taken as an insult." Gin concluded, that inane grin still plastered on his lips. "But, we mean no hostility in coming here ta meet t'cha, Mr. Luisenbarn. In fact, what we would like ta do--very quickly--is be your new ally."

Gin quickly unfastened the suitcase, flipping open the lid and continued, "I think you will like what we have ta offer."

Barragan, suddenly curious, pushed his older mistress off from his lap, and crept toward the suitcase to see exactly what the two men had brought him. Inside he found a treasure trove of pictures, documents, and neatly printed essays. Holding up a single photograph to the light, he squinted his beady, tired eyes to view the figure within the photo--a raven-haired woman. Another hand reached down to grab a pile of papers; they were clean, linear--dangerous; they were bullets in the form of ink, all geared toward his head, seeking the bloodshed of the old Italian's dwindling reputation and dignity.

"I believe you have business to settle with this particular..." Aizen held up a thick, hard-back novel, entitled _'Nourrir le Feu'--_Feeding the Fire. "...writer, don't you?"

"So, you've found her." Barragan's lips curled into an animalistic smirk.

"She let her guard down a long time ago," Gin replied. "It was quite simple ta trace her whereabouts; our spies have been following her closely, and as of now, she's right where we want her ta be--in Shinjuku. Even more amusing ta know is that she is actually related ta the Kuchiki-gumi through marriage."

Aizen closed his eyes, his complexion serene, but the sternness in his voice heavy as lead. "She has no protection, minus a few lowly followers of the deceased Kuchiki Byakuya, who drew his last breath this morning."

"So he is dead." Barragan chuckled. "My major obstacle has been finally cleared away."

"Yes, it's as if..." Aizen began, the glimmer in his eyes flickering. "...heaven has joined our side."

A booming, thunderous cackle tore from Barragan's crusted lips, as he bent his head back in a maniacal fashion, and proceeded to flood the room with his howls of amusement.

"I've won!" He cheered, slamming his fist down on the table in victory. "I've won against that little piece of shit! Haha, at long last, I've won! Alright, Mister Sousuke Aizen," He smirked grotesquely. "I will ally with you; in return, I want this girl--this little whore who nearly ruined me--to fall into my grasp. I want her to suffer, and I want her to feel death on her flimsy, little body. In addition, I want the entire Kuchiki-gumi, and remains of that pathetic gang of second-rate hoodlums, to bow down to my feet, and to be swallowed by my power...!"

As a final gesture, and coarse expression of might, Barragan took the single photograph and instantly tore it in half, letting the remaining shreds fall to the floor. Gin, acknowledging the act, looked to his boss, who had already fastened his hat back onto his head, and risen from his seat. Sousuke Aizen had every reason to be pleased that one particular evening; he had just accomplished a major feat--doubling the size of his army--in less than five minutes.

"Well, Mister Luisenbarn," He gave an eerie smile to his host, and before he turned his heel to exit, said, "I thank you kindly for your time."

**TO BE CONTINUED...**

* * *

Complex, eh?  
Lol, hope you all can keep up with the plot; I like twisting and bending it ;p

1) _Saiko-komon_--Senior Advisor  
2) Yes, Halibel is Byakuya's second wife; I'm sorry if some of you don't like it, but do feel free to complain :D  
3) Yes, Rukia is a virgin (right now, at least)  
4) Lastly, yes, Rukia is in big doodoo. I made it very clear how "caustic" and "sardonic" she is, so it's no surprise that she'd piss off a lot of people--including the Mafia. How Barragan came to know her? You'll all have to find out ;p

Please review, dear readers!


	4. Bluster In A Bottle

**  
'BLUSTER IN A BOTTLE'**

* * *

**Author's notes: **Thanks to everyone who reviewed--special thanks to _demon*feathers_ for such lengthy critiques! You're all wonderful! Now, I realize that some like and some do not like the fact that Halibel and Byakuya were married. Well, I do plan to add a little backstory on their relationship, so please stay tuned and you'll understand exactly how I feel about that particular pairing.

And, yes, for the IchiRuki moments. There will definitely be more (plus, it's gets more mushy and fluffy), and once again I apologize for making you guys wait such a long while simply for there to be some interesting interaction between the two. But, my finals are coming up this week so please bear with me as I get through the pain ;p

**Warning**: This chapter is graphic (bloody/a lot of filthy talking).

* * *

**June 28th  
****Chiba, Japan**

Like crude rainfall, brackish, crimson-colored liquid splattered onto the blood-stained carpet as a man--an obese, corpulent drug smuggler--tilted his neck, struggling to maintain consciousness as his bruised head swelled like a painful zit. He sniffled, saliva dripping from his mutilated lips, and blood spurting from his fragmented nose, while pleading for his assailant, Kurosaki Ichigo, to end the torture.

The pitiful wretch was sitting half-awake in a chair with both hands confined as his looming assaulter held a dagger to his ear, threatening to slice it off if he failed to reveal the location of the Kuchiki-gumi's precious, hidden substances. For the beaten-down, bloodied lout, it was a brutish nightmare he could not escape from; for Ichigo, it was a typical workday.

"F-fuck..." The overgrown crook whimpered, much like a wounded beast. "Fuck, fuck...okay, I'll tell you. B-but, please, don't k-kill me, please don't kill me..."

Ichigo spat, his chocolate eyes glistening under the dim light fixture. "That's good you've decided to give in, Omaeda, you pathetic fuck. Hurry up, or I'll skin you alive right now."

"O-okay, I'm sorry." He cried uncontrollably; indeed, this would be the last time Omaeda ever decided to weave himself into the dark, venomous tapestry of the Yakuza underground. It was simply too much for him--for _any_ weak-hearted dolt--to handle. "...th-the drugs...they're in Sapporo. I-I left them there u-under the control of another m-man..."

"And, who is this other man?"

"I-I don't know...th-this man."

Ichigo glared down at his battered victim, impatient. "I'll ask again. Who is this other man you dealt with?"

"...I have no i-idea--"

Swiftly, Ichigo slashed the fleshy, plumpish cheek of the crippled man who howled in agony as blood poured from his sliced, sweat-stained flesh. He shrieked, quite thunderously, and began to sob and shudder violently while pleading for the ginger-haired lieutenant to end the assault.

"Please!" He begged. "Don't do this! Don't do this t-to me, p-please!"

"Fuck you!" Ichigo roared, his dagger piercing Omaeda's flabby, blood-splattered chin. "Don't you fuckin' lie to me! Tell me who the fuck dealt with you!"

And as if to make the overall assault even more denigrating and morbid for the miserable brute, Ichigo tilted a melting red candlestick over Omaeda's bare, bulging stomach and allowed the hot wax to drip onto the screaming man. It was a primitive mechanism of torment, but, Ichigo--being limited to the amount of supplies he carried to Chiba, yet extremely enterprising--held no qualms in utilizing that method. Plus, it elicited those wonderful howls of pain, which further humiliated the boor who foolishly believed he could rob from the Kuchiki-gumi and get away with it.

"Ahhh!" Omaeda bellowed helplessly, squirming in his seat as the liquid wax streamed down his flesh like gravy. "Ahh! Fuck! Fuck! Okay, I-I'll tell you! I'll tell you everything you want to know!"

"Hurry the fuck up!" Ichigo responded, not ready to withdraw just yet. "Who was there in Sapporo?"

"Okay...o-okay...I was helped by a German guy..." Omaeda sobbed. "He offered to buy those d-drugs from me...! And, I'm stupid, and I don't know what to do with the drugs I steal, so I al-always sell th-them to other M-Mafia men..."

"Then, those drugs aren't in your possession anymore." Ichigo replied. "They no longer belong to you."

"N-no...they don't...!" He twitched slightly, much calmer, though the bleeding in his cheek failed to halt. "Please let me go, sir. I promise I-I won't do anymore of this...please!"

"What was the German's name?"

"I don't k-know--"

"Don't you fuckin' lie to me again, Omaeda, what the fuck was his name?"

"Uh...I-I think..." Omaeda clenched his eyes shut, as if trying to generate some activity in his brain. "I-I think it was so-something l-like Schiffer..."

_'Schiffer?'_

"What do you know about him?"

"No-not much. I only know that...he-he has black hair, and green eyes...Oh, god, I don't wanna die..."

"What is he associated with?" Ichigo asked, holding his dripping dagger away.

"Uh...uh...I t-think he was f-from California. B-but, I honestly don't know the city, o-or the gang, so please, stop hurting me...!"

_'Fuck.'_

Ichigo sighed, scratching his head in irritation. This was just plain, fuckin' tiring. He had been pursuing the information for thirty minutes with the fat lout, and even longer for the money and drugs, which vanished from his grasp once again. Hoping for a hint on the relationship between Barragan's crew and the mysterious "Schiffer", Ichigo had done everything he could to extract the desired information without killing the oaf, but he realized that nothing else was going to be released from Omaeda; the wretched, overfed cow had been milked dry. Ichigo could have slaughtered him right there in his flat--out of anger for wasting the lieutenant's time--but he disliked more unnecessary bloodshed, and finally decided that it was time to retreat.

The ginger-head, disgusted by the mess and oozing liquids from Omaeda's horrendous figure, tossed the latter a damp rag and loosened the bindings on his wrists. It was quite merciful of Ichigo, who was known to have shown even a bit of charity to his victims after a pummeling session. To Renji and the rest of the senior bosses, the act was considered "pussy-ish"; to Ichigo, it eased his guilt after inflicting such tribulation upon his prey.

"Clean yourself up," Ichigo spat as he stood by the threshold, about to exit. "And don't you fuck with the Yakuza again, or I'll blow your head off the next time we meet. Remember, Omaeda," The ginger-head shot his bloodied, lacerated victim a spite-filled glare. "There's no one you can turn to. Not the cops, or any other gang; they'll just step all over you 'cause you're nothing but a fuckin' piece of shit. Don't you forget that."

The door slammed shut.

Ichigo stepped out into the lackluster, fog-covered alley at approximately 3:09 in the morning, and carefully scanned his surroundings to make certain that no one noticed him emerge from Omaeda's flat. He crept into his car, wiped the fat man's blood from his face, and removed his blood-stained gloves to reveal trembling, pallid hands. God, the young lieutenant sure was exhausted.

He breathed out, ready to endure another stifling trip back to Tokyo, but before he could start his car, a ruffling noise emerged from the back seat. Rapidly and without hesitation, Ichigo grabbed his gun and turned around to view whatever entity had crept behind him.

"Who the fuck are you?" Ichigo demanded, finger pressed onto the trigger.

But, boy, was he in for a shock.

"Calm down, it's me." A voice answered back, though, it was not merely any voice. It was delicate, feminine--too high-pitched to be threatening, yet blooming with the austerity that Ichigo immediately recognized. He dropped his gun.

_'The fuck?'_

"Rukia..." Ichigo sighed, his eyes widening as the young woman, with her cartoon bunny-print nightie on and her hair tied into pigtails, crawled into the front seat so she could better face her escort whom she, quite frankly, had come to adore _very_ much.

"What...what are you doing in my car?" Ichigo asked, perplexed by her presence, though Rukia appeared to be completely unflustered. "And, how did you get in?"

"Oh, let's just say that I'm a guru when it comes to picking locks. Don't ask me where that skill came from, but I did take the time to sneak into you trunk last night before you left. And, when you went into the apartment complex over there, I just snuck into the backseat. After all..." Rukia yawned, smirking. "...sleeping in the trunk is so uncomfortable."

"Rukia," Ichigo shook his head. "You're not supposed to be here--"

"It's okay, Kurosaki. I already know what you do for a living. It wasn't hard for me to find out considering that I live with you and the other Yakuza members--who, by the way, are very nice to me--that I'm shrewd, and that your tattoos are very visible." Rukia smiled sheepishly. "And to think you tried to fool me by saying you were involved in 'dimplomatic services...'"

She was such a stange girl, and genuinely amusing (Ichigo would not lie about her quirkiness) but would've inflicted a heart attack on her ginger-haired lieutenant had she emerged too brazenly. Ichigo knew that Rukia would eventually figure out his profession; she was too keen, too bright, and had already laid eyes on his trademark tattoo after the overly embarrassing incident in the shower room. Ichigo would not deny that the young lady intrigued him with her craftiness and whimsical mannerisms, but her eccentricity exposed her to more danger, and that was what worried him.

Even more unsettling to Ichigo were her sharp, nimble tongue and critical wit. Yes, after supervising the young lady for a week, he realized that she had the brilliance and levity that could rip a man's heart out. Such characteristics were malignant, yet here Rukia was, tucked in his car on a foggy dawn and in a city whose name she probably did not even know.

She didn't care, though, as displayed by her flippancy. Ichigo sighed and decided to deal with her later, though one thought that did cross Ichigo's mind in a split second was why Miss Rukia had been following him so closely for the past week.

"My apologies, Rukia, for keeping all of this away from you." Ichigo replied while starting the car, quite calmly. "I didn't think you would like it the news."

"I'm a big girl. I can handle the fact that my sister was married to a drug lord. However, I am concerned about this..." Rukia said, and grabbed Ichigo's wrist, pulling him toward her. "Kurosaki, you're bleeding."

He withdrew his hand very quickly from her warm, soft grasp. "It's not mine. And, I'll be alright."

"Oh." Rukia replied, suddenly understanding that her escort was most likely involved in some violent quarrel, one which she would not pursue in courteous consideration of his honor. "I see. But, Kurosaki, you seem really tired. Do you want me to drive?"

Ichigo looked at her, quite astonished by her abrupt--though kind--offer, but said, "No, I'm fine. You, on the other hand, need to go to sleep."

"I'm wide awake, actually. Here, let me drive, and you can rest." Rukia leaned forward to grab the steering wheel.

"No, Rukia," Ichigo insisted, his tone slightly harsher. "I won't let you do this; you're the _Oyabun's_ family. So, don't worry about me and go to sleep, now."

Rukia looked at him for a few moments through those brilliant, glittering eyes. For some reason, whether it be the cold or the sudden drowsiness that transpired after hearing Ichigo's tone become more uninviting, Rukia surrendered and bothered him no longer. She allowed him to drive, and though he pressed her to sleep, she could not admit for slumber to overcome her. It was strange; normally Rukia would have been more bold and assertive, but, in the presence of this man, she was unable to be the sassy, impudent "Blackbird" that was normally exhibited through her fiery writing.

Maybe, this Ichigo Kurosaki made her somewhat...weak. Vulnerable? Perhaps.

After all, Rukia had made an attempt (albeit insolent) to connect with him. And, since when did she care about "connecting" with Yakuza men? In her eyes, however, the orange-haired lieutenant, whose handsome complexion shimmered so enticingly under the star light, was different--unique. Unique enough for the "Blackbird."

And, before arriving in the grand city of Tokyo, Rukia made one last attempt to "connect."

"Hey, Kurosaki." She whispered through a half-open gaze.

"Yeah?"

"I was just wondering...about that scar on your back."

Ichigo's blood froze. "What about it?"

"Well, how did you get that scar?"

He paused. "Accident."

"What happened?" Rukia asked.

"Nothing; just bad timing." Ichigo replied, his breathing slowing down.

"Did someone hurt you--?"

"--Sorry, Rukia," Ichigo interjected before she could go further. "I really would prefer it if we not discuss this."

Rukia sighed in silence, and, glancing at her escort, said, "Alright, sorry. I'm just really inquisitive."

"It's fine. Go to sleep now."

The lavender-eyed girl bit down her bottom lip, darkening the flesh as her teeth sank in deeper. What was she hoping for? An engaging conversation with this cryptic, tight-lipped man whose profession required him to be, well, tight-lipped?

It wasn't as though Ichigo Kurosaki, the gang's second lieutenant, was going to open up to a girl he only knew for a week, especially not when her liberal, voluminous audacity was a major issue for Ichigo. Rukia had acted out of character--not what she had planned would happen--and it began to haunt her. However, more than anything, the sweet rain of sleep had begun to dampen her mind as they approached Shinjuku, and she decided that enough energy had been spent for the night.

"...sure thing, Kurosaki."

* * *

**July 1st  
****Hakone, Japan**

Trouble was stirring, even beyond the prefectures of Tokyo and Chiba. News of the horrendous accident in Yokohama had spread throughout the archipelago, and sent waves of terror all across, affecting each and every major city that dreaded, but suddenly began to anticipate, another inevitable outbreak of a drugwar. This time, it seemed, the whirlwind would be picking up a little more than dust.

With one flick of her index finger, the lights went down, and the _Keibu-ho_, a short, freckled, blonde-haired woman, slung an overcoat over a free arm and exited her office. Ambling down the vacant hallway, she immediately spotted light from one particular office protruding the darkness, and sighed.

"Inspector," she called out to him in a nasal, squeaky voice. "Are you still working on that case?"

Her captain, a lanky, blonde man of twenty-seven, was situated at his desk with a folder of various documents sitting in his lap, and a glass of Bourbon on the table beside him. He looked up to see who had intruded his office at such a late hour, but smiled once he saw the woman's dangling, spunky blonde pigtails.

"Ah, my dear," He smirked, and beckoned her inside with a wave of his hand. "Come on in. I didn't know you were still working, Hiyori."

"That's 'Lieutenant Sarugaki' to you, Captain Hirako." She scoffed. "And, you're not supposed to be drinking in your office, you know."

"Ah, you're no fun," the Inspector grumbled, though quite amused by his lieutenant's authoritative demeanor. "I was about to go home, myself. But, if you'd like, we could go to a bar and have ourselves a little break from this Mafia business."

Hiyori scrunched her nose and scowled; she was fed up with her superior's flirtatious manner of approaching her, as if she was merely a simple-minded pair of tits and booty. "I don't think that's very professional. And, plus, I was not the one who dragged everyone into this whole mess by chasing after the Mafia. I mean, why do you keep yourself up so late when you can just let the Yokohama police take care of its own problems?"

"You're so young, Hiyori--"

"Lieutenant Sarugaki." She sharply corrected him.

"Okay, Lieutenant," He smirked. "This problem is not limited to the Yokohama area; it's a major problem, actually, and when I offered to take on this case, I was thinking about using my abilities to finally flush out the Mafia and its criminal activities from this region."

"You're too confident in your abilities, Inspector." Hiyori remarked. "I think it'll take more than someone like you to fully remove the Mafia."

"Ehhh, that's so cruel of you..." The blonde man sighed, though internally he was not one bit stung by her callousness of mouth. "Lieutenant, do you not have faith in my abilities? I thought you were my best friend."

Hiyori shook her head, utterly irritated by her Captain's lack of sternness--and quite puzzled as to how he was promoted to such a high position despite his childishness. It was evident that he, Shinji Hirako--the chief Inspector of three years--got by the business with his bursting charm and a wit that was as smarmy and slick as olive oil, but Hiyori believed that such characteristics were unfit for police work, and because of that she was unable to fully concede to his demands.

"Whatever. I've had enough of this for one day," She said, grabbing onto her coat. "See you tomorrow, Captain; hopefully you won't drink yourself into a burping stupor by then." And, with that said, she headed for the door.

"Wait, Lieutenant," The Inspector called to her, not ready to let her leave just yet. "I have to ask you something."

"What is it?" Hiyori asked as she turned around, her complexion clearly marked by annoyance. "And do make it quick, please."

"I was just wondering..." He lifted up his set of documents, flipped through the sheets of paper, and pulled one out, handing it to the blonde lieutenant. "...if you know this man."

Hiyori grabbed the document and, being a woman of great alacrity of actions, observed the given information in one quick glance, and then said, "Marechiyo Omaeda? I don't know him."

"Ah, I see."

"Is he apart of the Mafia?"

"No, he's just some thief who tried to steal a huge load from the Kuchiki-gumi in Tokyo." Hirako remarked, placing the document back into his folder. "He's not in association with any gang, but his family is very wealthy."

"Why are you telling me this?" Hiyori asked, unwilling to waste time with small chat.

"Omaeda was found dead in Chiba." He replied. "This man was planning to leave for the United States, but he was killed just yesterday."

"And who killed him?"

"Well," Hirako grinned. "I have yet to find out, though I definitely believe he is linked to the drug lords. Be a dear, Lieutenant, and collect more information on him."

A vein instantly popped on the lieutenant's forehead as he opened his mouth; she loathed that word "_dear_." It was a disgusting, contempt-filled word that he nevertheless used so airily when around her, yet it was greatly demeaning to the woman. Though exasperated, Hiyori nodded politely and without hesitation, even though she was utterly exhausted about involving herself in another massive scavenger hunt--this time over some fat oaf who, foolishly, became the prey of the Yakuza beasts because of some inane mistake and his inflated, ill-fed greed.

"I will do so." She quickly turned her heel and exited the office.

"Hiyori," Her Inspector called out, although she did not spare him a single glance back. "I'll still make time for that drink with you."

The door was slammed shut with a thunderous bang.

* * *

**July 5th  
Tokyo, Japan**

_"...and so, as I have already stated in the last chapter, there is no such thing as 'virginity.' Why, it's simply an abstract, invisible cloud of nothingness fabricated by insecure, weak-hearted men with egos as delicate as snowflakes, who yearned to keep their younger, more impressionable maidens under the binding chains and shackles of domesticity..."_

His pale-white fingers carefully brushed the edge of each page, as Hanatarou, with his droopy-eyes riveted onto the tiny, black prints of the lead-heavy book, sauntered down the corridors of the Kuchiki Mansion one humid, humdrum evening. With his attention securely locked onto the words and beautifully crafted idioms, phrases, and dialogues, he did not realize where his feet were moving to, and suddenly bumped into the chest of the ginger-haired lieutenant.

"Ah, Kurosaki-san," He stammered, falling back and away from the taller man. "...s-sorry, about that. I-I didn't see you..."

The older man shook his head and gave a solemn smile at the boy, whose cheeks were tinted with red--possibly out of fear for the lieutenant, though, to Hanatarou, Ichigo actually represented the more generous and merciful portion of the Yakuza gang. "It's fine, just be a little more careful. But, what would have happened if I were Halibel-sama?"

"Uhh..." Hanatarou peered down at his feet, speechless, yet blushing bright pink. "I-I will be more careful, sir..."

"Good." Ichigo said, his gaze suddenly directed at the book in Hanatarou's grasp. "Hanatarou."

"Yes, sir?"

"What is that you're holding?"

"Oh," Hanatarou murmured as he glanced down at the book. "Rukia-san gave this to me. It's a translated version, and I think she wrote it while she was studying in England."

"May I see it?" Ichigo politely asked (so not Yakuza-like), and the black-haired servant boy, eager as always, handed it over to the ginger-haired man. "Thanks."

"Rukia-san's fantastic at writing, Kurosaki-san." Hanatarou remarked as he watched Ichigo's swift fingers flip through the pages. "She's very honest and straightforward in her writing, yet she's also artistic, too. I just got it yesterday, but I'm already half-way through."

Ichigo turned to peek at the cover entitled, _Crown of Thorns_. Quite a suggestive title, but fitting for someone like the raven-haired young lady who was known to light a few sparks here and there.

"What is this book about?"

"Sex." Hanatarou replied--bluntly--eliciting a cocked eyebrow and astonished glance from Ichigo.

"It's about sex?"

"Yes, w-well..." The boy stuttered, suddenly unable to keep his composure, being as naturally timid and taciturn as he was. "...It's not t-that explicit. It's just Rukia-san's ideas on l-love and romantic relationships..."

"I see." The ginger-head replied, handing the book back to Hanatarou. "Have fun with that, kid."

"Thank you, sir..."

Ichigo nodded in acknowledgement to his leave and headed to his own quarters. That night, it seemed, the overall atmosphere would remain silent; Renji, the raging babboon, was in Harajuku for "business"--or, rather, sex and gambling--after a long and unsuccessful search for the Kuchiki-gumi's substances. Grimmjow was in New York, Kenpachi--the headquarters boss--in Shizuoka, and most likely boosting up his arsenal in preparation for his revenge on Barragan. Kaien Shiba, on the other hand, was a strange figure--very secretive, though most people never would have described his as such due to his display of suave charm and luminous brilliance. As Byakuya's--and now Halibel's--right hand man, he was required to keep himself opaque and unreadable--a human puzzle. Kaien was probably anywhere in the world right now, leaving Ichigo the only major Yakuza leader in the Kuchiki mansion.

Being confined in Shinjuku was not what he had wanted; if the ginger-head was granted a choice including more freedom and mobility, he would have gladly taken the time to visit his loudmouth father and two younger sisters in Urawa. But, because his deceased godfather had placed his trust in him, Ichigo felt it would be a shameful blemish on his honor if he did not remain in the city to watch over Miss Rukia--whom he rarely talked to (much to Rukia's disappointment).

So, he stayed, very faithfully. Yanking his tie off (he hated ties with a flaming passion) but leaving his shirt and slacks on, Ichigo settled himself upon his bed and closed his eyes while trying to keep himself from falling into complete slumber. He contemplated about calling his family, something he could not do with Renji and the other senior bosses around. Though it was late, he figured that simply hearing their voices, and his father's irascible howls of joy--even a little bit--ought to relieve some stress.

"I should." He whispered, and pressed a finger on his Blackberry.

_Crash!_

"Fuck..." Ichigo felt his blood suddenly glaciate, and his heart pound mercilessly within his chest after that horrible, booming sound crashed upon him in tempestuous waves. _'What the fuck was that...?'_

A scream, a thud, and a curse forced Ichigo to quickly grab his gun and run up the stairs toward the source of the sudden noises. He could hear screaming--it was Hinamori, the young maid. As he approached the maiden on the floor, with her eyes widening in trepidation and lips quivering uncontrollably, Ichigo realized that he was actually running towards Rukia's bedroom, causing his mind to instantly rush like a violent whirlwind.

"Fuck...! Rukia!" He yelled, and saw, as he stood by the threshold, a man dressed in black garbs--a familiar, typical Yakuza suit--pointing a gun towards Rukia, with his arm wrapped around the black-haired, lavender-eyed girl. It was almost mind-blowing; Ichigo could not understand how exactly this man had crept into the Mansion, which was, by far, the most heavily-guarded building in all of Shinjuku. But, that question was brushed away quickly; the orange-haired lieutenant had to think of something, and fast. Rukia, in the blink of an eye, was suddenly tossed into hazardous ground.

"Release her!"

"Don't be fuckin' stupid, kid--"

"I said to let her go!" Ichigo was extremely adamant, yet the man in black did not seem the least bit flustered by his demand.

The intruder straightened his arm, and said, "Put that fuckin' gun down, or I'll shoot this lady's brains out."

Ichigo glanced over at Rukia, who was held captive by the man's tough grasp, yet she did not struggle or begin to weep. In fact, much to Ichigo's surprise, the young lady did not look at all apprehensive, despite the perilous position she was in. She simply stared straight at Ichigo, her cool, arctic eyes glistening, lips shut, and her hypnotic stare piercing his own timorous gaze.

"Kurosaki..." she whispered, tightly clenching her fist.

Suddenly, the evening did not turn out to be so "humdrum" after all.

**TO BE CONTINUED...**

* * *

I can hear the suspense bursting in my head...  
So, what did you all think of this chapter? Good? Bad? _Meh_? Please do _**review**_ ;p

1) _Keibu-ho_--Police Lieutenant (And, yes, the Vizards will make up the police force ;D)  
2) No, Ichigo did not kill Omaeda. Take a guess who?

Thanks for reading, loves!


	5. One Summer

****

'ONE SUMMER'

* * *

**Author's Notes:** My deepest apologies to those who waited for my update. Wow, over 4 months. I feel like such an evil douche for making everyone wait, but thank you all for your patience. I can at least find comfort in saying that this chapter is quite interesting, and I truly think that you all will like it (well, keep reading and we'll see).

Now, while I cherish every single review that is posted, I have to especially thank _NejiTenLuva _for giving me one of the most inspirational and lengthy reviews I have ever read. That was terribly sweet of you, dear ~ :D

**Warning:** Graphic imagery/dirty language (You know, the things that make this story memorable). Ah, and slight Renji x Hinamori :D

* * *

**July 5th**  
**Tokyo, Japan**

"Kurosaki…" the raven-haired girl once again whispered through parted, pink lips that seemed to shimmer under the luminosity of Shinjuku's exterior light displays. Ichigo, through dizzy eyes, peered deeply into the young woman's face—so serene, yet attempting to mask her ever-budding trepidation caused by the man's tight, vicious grip on her neck. He glanced at her flower-like lips; they were red. Yes, they were most certainly dyed an unfathomable, unforgiving crimson, and bleeding as well.

Rukia simply drew out a tongue and carefully licked the flesh of her bloodied lips, a delicately seductive gesture that seemed to perturb Ichigo's focus and drag his gaze elsewhere. _Fuck. _This girl was playing with him, and goddamn, why at a time like this?

His arm began to tremble as he watched the intruder's finger budge slightly.

"Don't!" The ginger-head boomed. "Don't you fuckin' move!"

"Shut the fuck up, kid. You wanna try and take a step, try to save this little bitch's life?" The gaunt, long-haired man snickered as his thumb carefully stroked the edge of his gun. "I'll shoot both of yer heads off."

"Ichigo." Rukia whispered. "It's okay."

Upon hearing her gentle reassurance, the eye-patch wielding intruder cocked his gun and a terrifying clicking noise silenced all parties, leaving Rukia only able to communicate through her eyes. She closed them. God, never before had Ichigo been so flustered. Only Rukia, the remaining jewel of Kuchiki _Oyabun's_ heart, and the fact that she was standing on top of thin, fractured ice could make the young lieutenant's confidence tremble like feather wisps in the wind.

"So," The shady intruder began. "This bitch is Kuchiki's family, eh? If you don't want anything to happen to her little ass, then don't fuck up."

"What the fuck do you want?" Ichigo asked, still keeping his gun pointed squarely at the trespasser.

"Hrm," The man grinned, displaying rotten, yellow teeth so foul that Rukia's nose scrunched in repulsion. Had he not positioned a gun near her head, she would have most certainly shot another one of her caustic, smart-assed remarks to damn his lack of personal hygiene. "Put your gun down."

Ichigo hesitated.

"I said to _fuckin' _put it down!"

The ginger-head cursed viciously under his breath and dropped his pistol to the floor. He was then ordered to slide it across the room, and did so with masked reluctance, clearly understanding that his sudden nakedness cornered him into a very stiff position. The intruder, satisfied with the defenselessness of the scowling lieutenant, thus voiced his demand.

"I want Kaien Shiba."

"He's not here."

"And, where is he?"

"I don't know."

After an unbearable moment of pause, the man smirked, and simply replied, "Oh?" He peered down at Rukia, who kept her eyes shut. "Well, that fuckin' sucks. I was gonna let this one go in exchange for the Kuchiki-gumi's 2nd in command, but I guess there's nothing for me to do now except…"

_Click._

"…kill this whore."

'_Fuck!' _

"Ichigo!"

Time itself broke into one thousand shattered pieces at the sound of her scream, and as Ichigo drew out a buried dagger from his back pocket, he quickly noticed the trespasser's eyes widen, his breathing shift, and his leg tremble uncontrollably. _'The fuck...?'_ In his state of confusion, Ichigo had to nevertheless act quickly, and he did so, flinging the razor-sharp dagger into the right shoulder of the man.

"Arghhhh!" He roared in sheer fury, dropping his own firearm, and allowing Rukia to escape from his grip. "You fucking bitch!" The man bellowed, reaching for his gun before a zipping bullet blasted one of his quaking fingers off in an eruption of gore and flying, crimson blood. "Fuck!"

Ichigo crushed his head under the heavy pressure of his heel and forcefully yanked at the man's collar, drawing rivers of saliva from his exposed tongue and nearly choking him. "Don't you move, you _motherfucker_, you hear me?!"

Too late, though; as the sight of Rukia crouching near her bed distracted Ichigo's gaze, the intruder pressed a tiny green capsule into his mouth and swallowed – hard. Before the ginger head could force the defeated man to spew out his death pill, thick white clouds of foam began to flood out from his mouth, and, as his black, squinty eyes darkened and rolled back, a permanent smirk plastered itself onto the man's delirious, ragged complexion – a face that somehow eerily echoed ' _I win_.'

Ichigo stared dazedly at the gruesome sight of the dying man and released his taut grip from the bloodied collar before directing his glance at Rukia. Cold sweat trickled from her forehead and neck, but she was nevertheless able to weakly display a waning smile that was so refreshing and so full of the sense of victory that Ichigo could not help but nod his head in response. He then peered down at her hand, and noticed, in her grasp, was a reddened pen that dripped with the intruder's blood.

* * *

A glimmering scarlet Mercedes rumbled beyond the steel gates of the Kuchiki residence and settled itself near the main entrance. Crimson-haired Renji jumped out from his vehicle and while tightening the knot on his rustled tie, dashed into the foyer of the mansion where he met Iba and the rest of the guards. As he attempted to straighten his shirt and wipe the remnants of lipstick from his neck (there was nothing he could do about the perfume), he roared, "What the fuck happened here?"

Iba approached the fuming lieutenant and scratched his head, replying, "Sorry, Abarai. You missed all the fun."

Renji scowled. "All that fucker Ichigo told me was to get the fuck over here because Miss Rukia almost lost her life. Shit, what the fuck happened to the other guards?"

"Killed," Iba solemnly stated. "The intruder was quite impressive; he managed to shoot down three of our guards without the others noticing, and slithered his way into the house. Miss Rukia was in her room when he broke in, and once Hinamori noticed, she was shot in the leg."

The red-head's lips shook. "H-Hinamori. How is she?"

"Well, she's got a bullet in her thigh, but I sent Hanatarou and the others to take her to the hospital. Some of the other guys are planning on choppin' up the intruder's body and sendin' the head over to Barragan as a present. Oh, and uh..." He puffed his cigarette. "...Halibel-sama is furious, and we don't really know what to say to make her calm down --"

"Get out of my way," Renji groaned as he passed by Iba to make his way up the stairs. After giving one hesitant glance towards the bloodied spot on the carpet floor where Hinamori was shot into submission, he neared Miss Rukia's bedroom and entered. A few servants were huddled near the window cleaning up the shards of glass and disinfecting the blood-stained tiles where the earlier confrontation took place. On the other hand, the raven-haired lass was situated on her bed, sitting motionless as Isane gently dabbed her cheeks with a damp cloth and attempted to mollify her with calming words. Upon seeing the red-head's presence, Isane excused herself and left, leaving the concerned Renji to crouch adjacent to a murky-eyed Rukia.

"You alright?" He asked, eyeing the heavy Pussian Navy suit that was draped over her modest shoulders.

"I'm fine, Abarai," she replied without sparing him a look. "I'm just a bit tired."

"So, now you finally decide to show up, you motherfucker?" A sudden voice intruded, forcing Renji to turn his gaze. It was Ichigo.

"What the fuck's up with you? I drive all the way back here and all you can do is act like a snot-nosed pile of shit, Ichi?"

Ichigo inched near the red-head without a shred of hesitation swimming in his still boiling bloodstream, and snarled angrily, "Fuck you, Abarai; your carelessness and your fuckin' idiocy almost got us fuckin' killed. We're in the heat of the most dangerous time of the drug war, and all you can think of is fucking some cheap whore in Harajuku. What do you think would have happened if I acted like you and left? What the fuck do you think would have happened to Rukia-san?"

"She's alive, and that's all that fucking matters, you pussy," Renji spat viciously. "You're such a fucking cunt, Ichi, that you can't even watch out for the girl, despite being my fucking equal!" He continued, ignoring the outraged complexion of his ginger-headed junior, as well as the stares of the servants. "I knew that Boss must have had a fuckin' aneurysm when he promoted you to this position. You're incompetent, and even though I showed I had just a bit of faith in you when I left tonight, you still have the audacity to dare speak up to me!"

Rukia was sure that something was about to snap - or, rather, get bloody and smashed into pieces. She painfully chewed on her lip while listening to the two insult and drop their classic F-bombs on each other, as if unable to bear anymore of their mutual hatred and testosterone-driven altercations. "Enough, please," She suddenly mumbled, stopping the two lieutenants before they began exchanging blows to the stomachs. "I'm sorry, you two, but..." She rose from the bed. "...I honestly can't take any more of this."

The raven-head clutched at her borrowed cloak, excusing herself from the bedroom, and ambled by her lonesome down the dimly-lit corridor in search of a bathroom. She stopped, however, after noticing someone follow her footsteps. About to shoo whoever it was behind her away (and quite rudely, as well), Rukia instead sighed and glanced over her shoulder to catch Kurosaki Ichigo standing in the same hallway, his hands casually tucked in his pocket - a gesture which seemed to hide the fact that something was amiss in the atmosphere. Rukia had always liked that; she admired the lieutenant's ability to cover his emotions so easily, quite similar to how the winter snows covered any evidence of a green, bursting spring. Had he been some other crony of Kuchiki-sama, she would have plainly ignored him, but Ichigo's mere presence compelled her to stop squarely in her tracks and ask, "What now?"

Ichigo sighed before he could apologize. "I'm sorry for my actions back there, Rukia-san. I hate to offer excuses, as well, but I cannot help but feel immense anger whenever Lieutenant Abarai tries to deny his faults. He's been difficult, and I let my anger take over because of that. I hope you will find that I do not act like this on a frequent basis --"

"Oh, hush up." Rukia bluntly interjected while keeping her eyes at the floor. Ichigo did so at her demand and said no more, albeit internally he felt a sharp pain plunge into his very gut when he heard the bit of anger which tinted her voice. The two remained silent for an elongated, awkward moment before Rukia breathed.

"You don't have to apologize. I'm not upset at all, truly. Kurosaki-san, I was simply scared at that time, and even now I still cannot seem to shake this fear off."

Ichigo inched closer to the girl and whispered, "Rukia-san, I know you're scared, but you don't have to be. Your brother-in-law ordered that I guard you with my life, and I _will _do that. I will never allow anyone - not any of those people out to hurt the Kuchiki-gumi, or Abarai himself - to rest a finger on you --"

The lieutenant abruptly shut his lips as a figure suddenly held out its arms and wrapped them around his neck, coating him in unexpected warmth and the tender fragrance of strawberry and kiwi fruit. "R...Rukia?"

He looked down and saw the lass embrace him tightly, shutting her eyes before allowing any tears to trickle down her cheek. But, Ichigo noticed her doleful, somber eyes begin to water, and though he was trapped in an awkward position (god forbid Renji see him like that), Ichigo said nothing; he understood how shaken up Rukia was, and if embracing him allowed her nerves to be tempered - even slightly - then he allowed it. The only dilemma for Ichigo was that little Rukia, who appeared so slim and delicate, held on to him just a little too tight for comfort. That, plus the abrupt contact between her and him was...perplexing (and quite uncomfortable), but Ichigo also acknowledged the fact that Miss Rukia was raised in livelier, more open societies where people were encouraged to embrace each other to flush out their emotions. There was no reason to believe that the girl held any deeper feelings for her own bodyguard, and to think that she perhaps held any _romantic _sentiments for him was ludicrous (or was it?).

"Rukia-san."

The girl sniffled, murmuring, "I-I'm so sorry. Kurosaki-san, I realize that I'm the one who has been stirring up trouble for you..."

"No, no, listen." Ichigo asserted, uncomfortable seeing Rukia in such a vulnerable state when she normally blossomed with sparks and fire. "You have not done anything to arouse the wrath of these people. Problems like this happen all the time --"

"You don't have to say such things to me, Ichigo," She spoke up. "I know. I have known, actually. Being the sister-in-law of the former head of the Kuchiki-gumi...that part rendered me shocked and bewildered, but, truth is...I have yet to tell you about my connection to this entire ordeal."

Ichigo sighed, asking, "May you clarify what you mean? What are you saying when you state that you have a 'connection'?

"I'm saying that it's a coincidence: me being the sister-in-law of Byakuya Kuchiki. I didn't know him until last month, and, hell, I never even knew I had a blood-related sister who was raised in Japan. All this information is yet to be properly swallowed and digested, but, something important you don't know about me is that I've engaged myself in the underworld before when I was a younger girl."

The lieutenant's hand began to tremble, and he felt cold sweat drip from his pores again. What did she mean by the underworld? The underworld of the _mafia_?

"Rukia, I don't know what you are trying to do --"

"Visit me tomorrow morning, then." Rukia whispered. "In my room. Don't bring anyone else but you and I'll give you some valuable information."

"Rukia-san," Ichigo quickly interrupted. "I appreciate your offer, but I think it's rather inappropriate to enter your own room by myself and not have a third party with us."

"What are you scared of, Kurosaki? Look, I'm trying to help you. Pardon the fact that my request is a bit bold, but I'd rather you hear what I have to say than any other person." She retreated back a step. "You've dodged bullets and traveled to outer cities by yourself - risking your life simply for the sake of the Kuchiki-gumi. I highly doubt that me asking you to enter my room by your lonesome places a dent in your confidence. So, just trust me."

Ichigo sighed in defeat, nodding his head slightly. It was no use to debate with Miss Rukia; if she insisted something, then she would undoubtedly get her way. And, furthermore, Ichigo's mind was genuinely void of any complaint, for any intelligence that he could grasp would be of much help to both his quest and his reputation. The thought of being able to surpass Renji Abarai and the rest of the bosses when it came to amount of beneficial information was too tempting for the ginger-head to further resist.

"Alright." He conceded. "I will come to you tomorrow. You should rest now, Rukia-san, it's nearly midnight."

"And so should you, but," She paused and slowly tugged the coat off her shoulders, presenting it to Ichigo. "...you ought to take this back. I'm not cold anymore."

Rukia gently handed the dark blue suit over to the lieutenant in the most tender of gestures Ichigo had ever encountered. It was quite strange; Rukia was the only woman which he would have forever described as fiery and strong-willed, and to characterize her as "meek" or "demure" or anything of that sort was nearing blasphemy. It seemed, however, that the incident - which only occured half and hour ago- somehow rendered the Blackbird just a tad bit vulnerable. In other words, Ichigo was beginning to see the "woman" emerge from her bold, intrepid shell.

"Thank you, Rukia."

"And, Kurosaki-san?" She whispered before he turned his heel.

"Yes?"

"...Thank you for saving my life."

Silence once again pervaded the atmosphere; it became more ubiquitous and intrusive than the fear itself, and the ginger-head found it to be somewhat difficult to handle. Thankfully, Miss Rukia sauntered off before he could reply, and as she rushed off to the nearest bathroom and shut the door, she could no longer resist holding back her babyish giggle. It was like a wonderful, glowing dream. Rukia, despite having nearly been touched by the spirit of death earlier on, had finally reached long-sought-after goal number one: embracing Ichigo Kurosaki for the first time.

* * *

******July 6th  
****Santa Barbara, California**

Slicking back the soft, coffee-colored wisps of hair away from his face, Sousuke Aizen gazed contentedly down at his book and listened to the gentle ticking of the grandfather clock whilst turning the pages every minute or so. He was quite pleased with the condition of his army at that time; days were flowing fluidly with no police intervention, all the money and resources they needed were being trucked in from the russet-skinned sloven back in Ravenna, and his men met little to no opposition from the remainder of the Kuchiki-gumi. It was inevitable that without the nucleus of the Kuchiki Confederation - the _Oyabun _himself - the rest of the gang was forced to deal with immensely harsh dilemmas and push back progression for the sake of stability. Now, all that was left to make Aizen more than merry was the news of his spy - one which he carefully implanted into the Yakuza-dominated district of Shinjuku - and whether or not he was successful.

_Knock. Knock._

"Enter, please." Aizen replied with a sip of his tea.

"Ah, Mister Aizen, it's rather late now. How uncharacteristic of ya ta be stayin' up at three in the mornin' just ta wait for my report," A silver-haired man emerged, his grim, bleach-white teeth glistening subtly under the waning light of the chandelier.

"It's not a problem, Gin," the brown-eyed man smiled. "I enjoy reading at this hour when the rest of Santa Barbara is neatly tucked under the covers, and all that accompanies me are the darkness and the silence."

"If ya insist."

"Truly." Aizen smirked, and continued, "I understand that you have obtained the final report. May I hear it?"

"Of course," Gin replied. "However, I don't think ya will enjoy this."

"Oh?"

"It appeared that the mission was successful at first. Nnoitra was able ta break a hole in the security system and actually find his way in ta the mansion. However, the man we were lookin' for, Kaien Shiba, was not present."

"That's very crafty of him," the brown-haired man calmly replied. "He harbors some dangerous intuition within that mind of his. He somehow knew we were after him."

"I ordered for Jiruga ta take Kuchiki's sister-in-law as a hostage instead, and, if Shiba was not available for "questioning,"ta kill the girl and kill himself as well. Had Shiba been there, Jiruga's assistant, I believe his name is Tesla, would have shot down the second-in-command. But, we ran outta luck."

"Continue."

"Some orange-haired kid supposedly barged in ta the situation and demanded he let the little princess go. Nnoitra, of course, did not cede, and was about ta kill the girl until somethin' unexpected happened."

"And what happened?"

"Miss Rukia had apprently been writin' before our guy broke in ta her room, and because she held her pen in her hand the whole time Jiruga was grippin' her, she was able to use that as a weapon." Gin released a chuckle. "Heh, he flinched, got stabbed, then shot, blah blah blah. I slipped a cyanide pill in ta the dummy's pocket, tellin' him to use it if he eva got in ta a tight spot. He did so, and that's the end of that tragedy."

"Hrm," Aizen lifted the tea cup to his mouth. "What a waste of a perfectly capable soldier. And, I wonder who that orange-haired kid was that intervened. I wonder if we should have killed him, instead..."

Gin grinned, much like a demented child, whispering, "Should we tell Tesla ta retreat? I think them Kuchiki-gumi people are gettin' ready ta storm the entire city. But, Kenpachi, the headquarters boss, is most likely gonna be headin' ova ta Shinjuku soon, so would ya think it'd be best ta reinforce what we got?"

Aizen paused for a minute, twisting the silken lock of hair in between his fingers. "Gin," He began, quite calmly, and without a hint of disappointment in his voice. "Get me the phone."

The silver-haired man perked up. "Who are ya plannin' on callin' up?"

"Oh," Aizen replied, composedly flipping open his book. "...just an old friend named Ulquiorra. I think you will like him."

* * *

**July 6th**  
**Tokyo, Japan**

"...Ne ~ What do you think? I told you it would be finished by this month, and I kept my promise. So, how about some feedback?"

"..."

"Hello?"

"..."

"...Hisagi?"

"Uhh, Miss Rukia..." The more masculine voice whispered. "...This article....is...."

"What is it?"

"...it's brilliant."

The raven-haired lass giggled lightly in merriment and slumped back in her chair, taking a quick sip of her milk. "Why, I have not heard that from you in a long time, dear. And, thank you so much for the praise."

"Well, I think you deserve it. The rest of my group will be quite pleased with this product."

"Now that that is complete, I'd like to continue --"

A knock echoed through the room, compelling Rukia to rise from her seat and eye the door. She paused, and then said, "Hisagi, pardon me, but I have to go now. I'll talk to you later."

With a tap of her button, she turned off her cellphone and settled it in the pocket of her bath robe. Taking a hand, she then proceeded to tighten the sash around her waist and cover her bosom, though still keeping a delectable portion of her milky, cream-like skin exposed for the summer breeze to caress. Her eyes turned to the clock. _7:00_. Kurosaki's precision was impeccable, and there was nothing more charming than a man who kept his word. Even more charming for Miss Rukia, however, was seeing the hint of baby pink arise on the young lieutenant's cheek, and seeing how his chocolate-brown eyes shifted back and forth in her presence.

"Make yourself at home," Rukia politely offered. "I'm very glad you arrived, Kurosaki-san. I hope this meeting will be satisfactory."

Ichigo simply nodded as he watched the girl pull out a short stack of neatly clipped papers from her binder and settle it on the table with a soft thud. Brushing aside her plate of toast, she retrieved a stapled document from the top of the stack and handed it over to the young man. He examined the large, bold characters printed at the top of the page, but could not decipher what they meant. Nonetheless, he was able to deduce, from the coloring and format, that he was holding a newspaper article betwixt his fingers.

"Rukia-san," He began, brown eyes curiously scanning the article. "You worked for a newpaper company?"

"Well, I didn't just work for it, I _owned _the newspaper chain. But, to be fair, it wasn't prestigious enough, as I was only a student of Cambridge at that time. I entered into the university when I was 16, and founded a group that centered on journalism." She continued, sighing. "I got into quite a bit of trouble because the articles I published were _supposedly _poisonous. I had to halt its circulation around campus, and though it was no longer available at school, I nevertheless aquired a large base of supporters. They liked me, they liked what I had to say."

"How does this relate to the mafia business?"

"Take a closer look at the article." Rukia offered. "What language do you think it is?"

"It's Russian," Ichigo replied without sparing a second glance at the paper. "Correct?"

"You are." The lass smiled. "I was 18. My father - adoptive father - moved to the city of Tula for business, and he took my adoptive siblings along with him. I visited Russia for about 2 summers, and only went back to Cambridge for each new semester. I don't think I need to tell you this, but, I aroused quite a bit of suspicion once the new school year began."

"Alright."

"Needless to say, my underground newspaper group was still in business even after the officials at Cambridge threatened to toss me out, but I believed that I didn't need them anymore. We were becoming extinct - a legend. I wanted to pursue something else that didn't involve me playing the role of a detective _and _a journalist at the same time. You see, Kurosaki-san, what I specialized in - and what I was notorious for doing - was retrieving confidential documents from certain people of power, starting my own little investigations, and then taking them down with my publications." She suddenly stopped and lowered he eyes, the gleam of sunlight disappearing from her doleful lavender orbs. "I wanted to get away from that; I wanted us to dissolve. And, we would have disappeared off the face of the earth...that is, until _he _arrived."

Ichigo subconciously leaned forward, eager to hear what she prepared to say. "And, who is _he_?"

Dark purple light flickered within her eyes and the soft, feminine tranquility she displayed earlier became diluted with a bursting, steaming anger which Ichigo could suddenly feel pierce his very soul. Rukia appeared...different this time as she sat across the table - darker, more sinister.

"It...it was never supposed to happen." She began to murmur. "It was never deserved. 'God forbid it happen again,' I told myself. I kept repeating that, because, you see, Kurosaki-san, I vowed to kill him for what he did to me."

"Who are you talking about?" Ichigo asked, more eager this time. "Is it someone associated with the Kuchiki-gumi? An enemy?"

"You know him very well, I believe." Rukia whispered, feeling a sudden chill trickle down her spine. "And, I know him very well, too. I probably know him more than anyone in the Kuchiki-gumi."

"Who?" The ginger-head asked again; he was growing more and more anxious, tired of the suspense Rukia kept drizzling him with.

"Sorry, it's rather difficult to recollect my memories of this incident."

"And what was the incident?"

"I...It involved my family..."

"Rukia-san, I beg you not to withold this. I need to know who you're talking about. So please, just give me his name. If you're scared of giving us information, do not be --"

"I'm _not _scared." She interjected, pressing her palm on the surface of the table. Her lavender eyes burned intensely with both rage and the pain of a damned reminiscence, but she was quick to contain herself and allowed her bursting emotions to gradually cool. "You don't understand, Kurosaki-san." Rukia bit her lip, unable to lock eyes with him. "He did something _unforgiveable_. For me to start this hunt all over is...opening Pandora's box even after I nailed it shut and turned away. It would be going through hell again."

Ichigo said nothing, but only watched in silence as Rukia slipped out two photographs from her manilla folder and held them in her hand. She placed one in her palm, very gently, and peered down at it with such motherly affection and tender, endearing warmth that the lieutenant had to wonder (quite inappropriately, too, considering the current situation) whether or not Rukia was experiencing a type of mood swing. His thoughts snapped back into order as she offered him the photograph; it was aged and faded in regards to color, but the object of the picture - a cherubic, mournful-eyed little girl with dark locks tied up in pigtails - was outstandingly beautiful.

"Ururu. She's my little sister." Rukia said, softly, before Ichigo could ask. "She was the reason I pursued him, and why I promised that he would never see the light of day again."

"What happened..." The ginger-head began, with eyes still riveted on the photo. "...to her?"

"She was raped."

A cold lump of saliva forced its way down his constricting throat as Ichigo attempted to keep his collected composure. Suddenly, it seemed, the story which Rukia was struggling to tell was becoming more and more sinister, with its dark roots slowly being uncovered after each utter of her rosy lips. Rukia sighed, her complexion taut and pale, and slid the second photo over to Ichigo.

"Lastly, this is the man who did it."

Apprehensive brown eyes slowly moved to gaze down at the photo, and Ichigo's suppressed breaths mixed with an unbearable sense of fear. His mind shook as it assessed the image: that sun-baked, russet skin; white, feathery wisps of bleached white hair, and a particular, brutal-looking scar spread over the eye. Quickly, Ichigo was able to understand and connect the puzzle pieces together, with the product being a horrible, flagitious truth that was too much for any human soul to process, and so abominable and mind-numbing it quaked the inner heart.

"No..." Ichigo exhaled in shear disbelief, while watching Rukia nod her head once.

_'Barragan...'_

* * *

**- 3 Years Ago -**  
**Tula, Russia**

_The barren, lifeless sky cracked into pieces with the hot whip of thunder clashing against the clouds as gusts zipped through the heat-filled air and wildly tossed bullets of rain across the city. Multitudes of grey-stone buildings seemed to cave in and suffocate her as she dashed through the streets, panting and running, struggling to keep the rising power of trepidation and anger from overwhelming her body. Charging into a humble-looking building, the ebony-haired girl brushed aside the soaking locks of hair away from her face; she breathed, attempting to keep her balance despite peering only through blurry, tear-stained eyes. _

_"...F-father?" She whispered, stepping into the foyer. Not a soul answered her, however; standing near the kitchen door was the store assistant, a grey-eyed girl. She was trembling._

_"Milena, Milena..." The black-haired girl gently called out to her, though her voice belied the immense wave of anxiety flooding over her mind. "Milena." She repeated again, inching closer to the young assistant. "Where is my father? Where are they?"_

_"They're upstairs..." Milena managed to respond through murky, disoriented eyes. She could not dare move, and only allowed her bottom lip to quiver while all else remained as still as ice._

_The sodden girl sighed as she made her way up the stairs, her eyes riveted on the crimson spots of blood that blemished the once-spotless carpet. The color was so ripe, so vibrant, and so youthful - the fresh blood of a child; it made her sick to her stomach to see such fluids dirty her home, and it would be even more sickening when she reluctantly turned the knob to reveal a sight that would forever leave a hideously burning imprint in her mind. And, god, it was purely awful._

_A young girl lay on the floor, motionless, with her tiny hand held in the palm of an older gentleman of tussled blonde hair and piercing olive-colored eyes. A younger boy sat in the corner with his head bent and hands clawing at his feather-like red hair, as if trying to yank something horrid from his memory. No one said a word to her once the girl walked in, though, the older male spared her a kind, waning glance as she settled herself on the floor and allowed a single drop of tear to flow down her blood-drained face. She began to quake, and wept silently as the rain outside gradually intensified. Disbelief and bewilderment transformed into wrath - steaming, overflowing torrents of rage - as her eyes traveled down the helpless little figure, examining and memorizing every bruise and blotch of blood marked into her skin. _

_The lavender-eyed girl began to wonder, while trying to pull her eyes away from the gruesome sight, what animal - what heinous monster, and what primitive, god-awful beast - would commit such a destructive, hideous crime against someone who never deserved to become the object of another one's fury. As she eyed the crimson stain settled on a particular area of her skirt, and the remnants of the perpetrator's fingerprints etched into the skin of her leg, something finally snapped - and it snapped hard. _

_The sodden-haired girl rose from the floor and wiped away the tears from her face. "I'm leaving." She stated, and quickly ran out the door. _

_"Wait a moment." The blonde-haired man called out to her, swiftly following her down the stairs. "Wait right there, you can't leave."_

_"Why not?"_

_"Your sister's hurt. We need to take care of her."_

_"You can do that. I need --"_

_"God damn it all, Rukia!" He roared furiously, slamming his fist into the wall. "You just got here! You saw what was done to Ururu, and now you're running away from her?!"_

_"Get out of my way! I'm gonna find whoever the fuck did this to her!" She shrieked, finally allowing her emotions to emerge. "I swear to god, I'll kill him! I'll fucking kill him!"_

_The man quickly grabbed her wrist before she could go any further and tried to tug her back. However, she harbored no intention of giving in, or letting go of the crime that was just committed against her little sister and her family's honor. There was no road - no pathway of safety - out of this dilemma; she knew what was to be done, even if it placed her own life in the devil's cursed grasp. After a brief struggle, the girl was able to free herself from her father's wrist, and charged out the exit - back into the untamed tempest of thunder and rain again. _

_"Rukia!" He called out, watching her dash off into the ruthless summer storm. She never turned her head back, even as he yelled out in a kind of desperation that was better associated with that of an injured beast, grieving hopelessly as the last remnant of sunlight withered and dissolved into the unfathomable blanket of darkness. _

_"Rukia!"_

**TO BE CONTINUED...**

* * *

Ahh, I'm so lazy. But I'll still finish the traditional explanation page.

1) If anyone wants to know, Tula _is _a real city. It's just south of Moscow :)  
2) And, as sickening and disgusting as it is, Ururu was indeed raped.  
3) Uhhh...(Too tired to know if I missed anything else, lol).

Now, if you guys have questions and such, I'd love to see them. Please **review**, and tell me what you think, what you're confused about, and what you would like to see later on as the story progresses. Also, if possible, I'd like to know what you guys thought about the IchiRuki-ness in this chapter.

Thank you for reading!


	6. Bold

**'BOLD'**

* * *

**Author's Notes**: I love you all! Chapter 5 reviews were excellect (I especially love all your lengthy feedback, _NejiTenLuva!_), and certainly kept me motivated. I'm really sorry about not updating sooner, but balancing summer school and decathlon is very much less than ideal. Hah, so sleepy. Anyway, sit back and enjoy this chapter because the story really gets going from this point on :) Though, I have to say that I'm not really pleased with my writing here. Mm, maybe I'm just hard on myself ;p

And I know a lot of you are impatient with the development of Rukia's and Ichigo's relationship. Sorry, but if it makes you guys feel any better, I am thinking about writing a smex scene. Wouldn't that be lovely? :D I'd love to hear all about what you think...in the review section xD

**Warning: **Do I have to complete this part again? ;p

* * *

**July 8th**  
**Tokyo, Japan**

Glistening bubbles and a burning fragrance of pure, undiluted spice danced about the dimly-lit dining room one late summer evening as a young maid gently poured the remaining amber liquid from the bottle, brought by the _kyodai _as a minor celebration gift for the return of both the Senior Advisor and Headquarters Boss, Shiba and Kenpachi. Laughter and a heavy influx of rice wine filled the men's wine glasses, and though the Yakuza high officers present temporarily broke from their solemnity caused by the thick tension of the impending drug war, three attendants seated at the dinner table were not displaying such blatant joviality.

Kurosaki Ichigo, being the youngest - and, simultaneously, the most composed - froze his lips while in the presence of his bosses. The Kuchiki-gumi's Nee-san and high command, Halibel, pursed her lips, her sunlit golden gaze demonstrating the utmost apathy with her underlings. Diamond trinkets hung from her lobes, and she, due to both discomfort and annoyance at the intoxicated state of the Yakuza bosses, twisted those gems with sharpened fingers that seemed able enough to bloodily mangle a man. Kenpachi, of course, exhibited no such emotion. Rather, the reality of his daughter's death cast a somber shadow across his face, and his coarsely-drawn complexion remained drenched of all high spirits which no amount of Cognac could remedy. He did not even touch his napkin.

All sounds of cheer were suddenly silenced by the clanking taps of Boss Shiba's silver knife on his wine glass.

With the men's attentions captured, the black-haired man proceeded to raise his glass in honor of their leader Halibel, and said, "I believe that our dear Nee-san has displayed remarkable poise in carrying out the tasks of our former _Oyabun _in such rough times. We shall show that we appreciate and admire every single action she takes to benefit and empower the Kuchiki-gumi." A wave of applause soon followed, but the russet-skinned woman remained disinterested in the situation, only sparing a nod of the head as a minute acknowledgement of Shiba's thanks.

The Senior Advisor, however, paid hardly any thought to their Nee-san's overt apathy; he had larger plans to execute, and swiftly - but suavely - lured a dark cloud to dim the once mirthful atmosphere of the dining room. With a calm smile and a bow of the head, Shiba began, "Enough with the flimsiness of our operations, gentlemen; we must begin to face the depth of the situation we are in and clean up our act. As you all know, our deceased Nee-san's little sister, Rukia-san, was placed in danger just a couple of nights ago right here in our mansion."

Ichigo instantaneously felt his stomach turn at the mention of Miss Rukia and the very magnitude of that nerve-quaking incident, but retained his focus on Shiba's words without a hint of anxiety in his eyes. The ginger-head was, after all, known for crafting a perfect mask.

"The danger is moving closer to our headquarters. Zaraki-san and I have been visiting our bases around Japan to make certain that everything is in tact, and every weed and rat has been flushed out. I have obtained information from our intelligence systems regarding the status of our arch-rival Barragan, who is currently back in Barletta. He is aged and exhausted, and a bullet to the old man's head ought to end not only his life, but the existence of his crumbling organization for good."

Optimistic chatter arose at Shiba's remark, and the men all haughtily grinned with the fully-blossomed knowledge that the long-sought end was near for their Spanish-Italian foe. But their smirks quickly faded once Zaraki's somber voice sliced through the noisy prattling and silenced all sounds of a breath. He stated, with a tint of anger in his speech, "Barragan will finally be finished in a matter of time. Our spies have notified us of a sudden power shift which the old son of a bitch foolishly agreed to. His army has been drained of many men, and while we do not know the definite reason why, we can conclude that he has made a deal with another drug lord in the United States."

"Who is this other drug lord you're talkin' about here?" Crimson-haired Renji piped up, with a cigarette casually hanging from his teeth.

"His name is Sousuke Aizen, from California." Shiba replied, turning the men's focuses to a colossal screen fixated onto the wall. Within seconds, an image of a young, chocolate-haired man - seemingly mild-mannered, and very unlike the typical godfather - appeared, and the bosses all once again began their independent bouts of chattering. Naturally, the soft, pedantic appearance of the man spurred much doubt about the quality of his power, but Ichigo, being more prudent than the rest, immediately knew this Aizen character was not one to easily fuck with.

"We have yet to collect more information about him." Shiba continued. "Men, keep in mind that he is quite different from the rest of the drug lords. While we know who he is, we do not know enough. Him being able to convince Barragan Luisenbarn, of all people, to surrender and relocate more than half of his men - and thus make his organization more vulnerable - paints a very unique picture of the man Aizen truly is."

After a brief moment of silence, Boss Shiba turned his head to face Zaraki, and the latter boss, without uttering a single word from his lips, replied back with a nod.

"Gentlemen. Onee-sama." Shiba gently smiled in Halibel's direction, as if to ask for her sanctified blessing. "We have decided to wage war. Before we assign positions, however, there is someone else who we must show you all."

Black suddenly invaded the screen, and a somewhat blurry photo of a thin, ebony-haired man with pale skin as white and delicate as the petals of a gardenia blossom emerged. Ichigo squinted his eyes to aquire better focus of the man, whose intense emeraldine were as striking as the blinding flash of thunder in the midst of a tempest, and seemed to pierce through his own soul. Those eyes, he thought while swallowing down a gulp, were so...captivating, and extraordinarily beautiful. Yet, by the sheer coldness displayed by the mysterious man on screen, the bosses could all clearly sense the danger this green-eyed individual meant to them.

"_Ulquiorra Schiffer_." Shiba began again, his accent clashing with the German-sounding surname. "We've pursued that useless oaf Omaeda for quite some time now because of how he fucked up part of our drug supply. Well, this dark fellow is the man who dealt with him, and he is also the one who killed Omaeda. The fat ass's death is not a great loss because, according to Second Lieutenant Kurosaki, this _Schiffer _has the rest of our drugs, and he may possibly be linked to Aizen."

Boss Shiba continued with his presentation by informing his fellow officers of the current state of the drug influx, but Ichigo's mind simply drowned out his generally melodic voice and took time to ponder about whether or not he ought to inform the Senior Advisor of Rukia-san's entanglement with Barragan.

Rukia-san's story was rather intriguing, and even Ichigo had to admit his sudden fascination with the girl - a fascination which unexpectedly transpired after she enlightened her escort of her shocking past over a cup of warm milk.

The ebony-haired girl had, up until the incident in Tula, lived a simplified existence with very limited knowledge of the underworld, and only published her sardonic articles as a means of demonstrating her coveted reputation as both a polemicist and a genius debator. After her sister's unfortunate encounter with Barragan, however, Rukia's motives changed, and she herself metamorphosed into a new woman, albeit more bitter and caustic than her younger self. Quickly recovering and reforming what was left of her private newspaper organization, she dedicated all of her time to the newspaper (which she also renamed _Fuck You _as a blunt message to Barragan) in order to take down the Russian wing of his operation.

The Mafia boss had at that time been residing in Tula so he could keep a close eye on his men in Moscow without being flushed out by the prime authorities. It was no secret that Barragan was a vicious pedophile, and Rukia had to uncover that disgusting aspect of him the ugly way, but no one else in the public knew about the drug lord who was creeping under their city. But with careful preparation and impeccable meticulousness, Rukia and her team of three trusted colleagues managed to gather enough evidence of Barragan's wrongdoings to publish an entire sixteen-page article and distribute it throughout the city.

By dawn, Tula was blanketed with thousands of gray sheets and bolded _Fuck You_'s, and the Moscow authorities could not neglect this phenomenon for a fraction of a second. In a matter of days, the public had exploded with feverish outrage and demanded for the amputation of Barragan Luisenbarn's operation; his men were arrested by the hundreds and jailed, all the money and substances he ever hoped to gain were confiscated, and Barragan himself was thrown into prison with a hefty sentence of thirty-three grueling years - elongated by the sheer acrimony of the Russian citizens who realized they had served as puppets for a destructive drug-sloven.

Rukia's clandestine victory was, in short, bittersweet - sweet in the sense that she had sheared off and permanently burned away the arm of Goliath and thus obtained that glorious light of justice for her sister, but bitter for the unfortunate escape of Barragan from his northern dungeon in only a year. At least now she still held all the documents and information of Barragan's operation, and was prepared to strike him down again - this time, Rukia-san vowed to leave nothing of the disgusting oaf behind. She, having already proven herself as a vigilante and prodigious investigator, would complete the job.

The lieutenant had been debating with himself for quite a while ever since the lavender-eyed Blackbird revealed her past involvement in the grimy, blood-soaked Mafia underground. Though the story of the rape of her adopted sister Ururu did not strike an immense emotional chord within Ichigo (he had heard and experienced much worse incidents in the past), the ginger-head could clearly see that Rukia remained deeply plagued by such a horrific event.

If Ichigo chose to inform his higher officers of the information he had collected just a couple of days ago, then he would beyond a doubt fall into Shiba's favor and possibly be relocated to a more auspicious location. However, he had to assess the risks of doing such a thing; revealing Rukia-san's personal engagement would place her in an unfavorable, and even dangerous situation, for the bosses would certainly pry her open for more details, and even go so far as to utilize her as an instrument of war.

He could not allow such a possibility to solidify into reality, and as Shiba rose his glass once again to officially "sign the declaration of war", Ichigo firmly decided to force his selfish interests to withdraw and instead focus on the one task assigned to him by the _Oyabun _himself: protect Rukia-san at all costs.

With that established, the evening reached its conclusion. War was made.

* * *

**July 9th **  
**Hakone, Japan**

Crushing her teeth down into the flesh of her bottom lip, Lieutenant Hiyori Sarugaki dabbed a dampened cotton ball on the tip of her chin to clear up the bruise that had been caused by a conflict with a speeding driver earlier that morning. She cursed under her breath for running into someone with such a mighty fist, and vowed never again to elongate a physical clash, especially since she was the inferior combatant in terms of height compared to most of the hooligans she locked up. Nevertheless, the blonde lieutenant proved herself worthy and capable of police work; after all, she had emerged as the victor after the earlier brawl, despite earning a hideous blemish in return.

"Oh, how I wish you could be more inconspicuous." She mumbled to herself, lamenting over the purple-brown blotch while ignoring the inane grin of Inspector Hirako behind her. Before the blonde man could raise his voice to speak, the lieutenant turned her head and shot a menacing glare in his direction.

"What do you want?"

"My, my, Hiyori dear, you're so uninviting." Shinji smirked, though he cautiously retreated a few steps back to avoid receiving a punch in the chest by a very pissed-off lieutenant. "By the way, nice birthmark you have there."

"Shut up." She snapped, having none of his typical morning shenanigans, and returned her gaze to the mirror. "That imbecile I brought in took me on a high speed chase and nearly killed someone on the road. And, anyway, he resisted arrest, so it was natural for me to put him in his place."

The inspector gave a light-hearted chuckle for applause and sat on her desk. "You certainly gave him a nice beating, my dear. He's down in the infirmary with major injuries to the head -"

"Good." She rudely interjected. "Maybe he'll do society a favor and die."

"Yes, yes, I can feel your anger overpower the room. By the way, dear, I need you to pack up your belongings tonight. We're leaving tomorrow evening -"

"What for?"

"Well," Shinji replied with a yawn; eight in the morning was still too early for him. "That man we were talking about last week, Marechiyo Omaeda, was killed in his apartment in Chiba. I think I recall you labeling him a 'tub of lard.'"

"I remember, but I haven't been able to gather much more information on Mr. Omaeda."

"Mhm, that's perfectly fine. It turns out that Love Aikawa has located the man who killed him. Only problem is that he is in Sapporo, and goes by the code name _Murcielago_. Other than that, we don't know much else. I think we ought to probe Sapporo for ourselves to figure out this puzzle."

"It might be wise for the Sapporo authorities to take care of this issue themselves." Hiyori remarked, rolling her eyes at the sheer absurdity of Shinji's proposal. "Going to the north without a clue of where this man is is like jumping off a plank into a waterless pool. We can't leave our post here just so you can pursue some stranger who, by the way, might not even be tied to the Mafia. In addition, what are we to do about the expenses along with the risks of putting our people in danger? What will the Chief Superintendent say?"

"Ahh~ How negative of you to say such things," Inspector Hirako whined, yet without a hint of sincerity in his voice. "I am certain I will be able to find him in Sapporo. You, my dear, simply have not yet seen my investigative skills put to the ultimate test, but I can assure you that I am in the Chief Superintendent's favor, and I strongly believe this journey will bring great closure, or at least aid, to our case."

"You mean _your _case. I, personally, never wanted to get involved with this Mafia business, but you have never once taken time to listen to my professional advice. Not to mention the _Keishi-Cho_ will strangle you -"

_Knock_.

"Inspector Hirako?" A masculine voice sounded out. "May I enter, please?"

"Yes, come in."

The man who gently twisted open the door knob and entered was none other than Police Sergeant Kensei Muguruma, a stern and strong-bodied, silver-haired man who was noted for his excellent performance in physically-challenging assignments, especially those tied with the Mafia underground. Though his firmly-established reputation brought great pride to the police division, it was no secret that Hiyori Sarugaki held a slight grudge against the Sergeant, who had become Inspector Hirako's right-hand man due to his work in cracking down the toughest drug war cases, and was even rumored to be the next candidate in line to snatch the blonde lieutenant's position.

Still, she tried to be cordial, as much as the corners of her lips could bear.

"Good morning, Muguruma."

"And to you, Lieutenant."

Before turning her attention back to the mirror, Hiyori's eye caught sight of a small suitcase hanging from the grip of the Sergeant's hand, and it was at that point she felt a vein pop.

"Wait a moment." She snapped, approaching the silver-haired man while ignoring the obfuscated look on Shinji's face. "What is that you're holding? A suitcase?"

"Well, yes." He cooly replied.

"What for?"

"Inspector Hirako's team is departing tomorrow for Sapporo. I am leaving this in the building, and I wanted to ask beforehand if I should bring a scarf."

The blonde lieutenant's eyebrow cocked in a manner which demonstrated, very clearly, both her confusion and infuriation at what her superior had organized: a group field trip to Hokkaido - an entirely new prefecture! No, not even that. Hokkaido was another island to the north, completely decapitated from the main police system in Hokane. There was no way to reinforce the team in Sapporo. And to add even _more _insult, Shinji had notified the rest of his division without telling his own Lieutenant of his outrageous plans first. Before Hiyori could fire a blazing remark at the man (one which would have undeniably hurt his feelings), Shinji slung his arm around Kensei and led him outside to avoid witnessing his Lieutenant begin foaming at the mouth out of pure anger. However, he could not slink out swiftly enough.

"Hirako, this plot is _completely _nonsensical. Have you any idea of the mess you are diving into?"

"Sarugaki-san, whoa, whoa. Let's calm down here." He chuckled nervously, while simultaneously backing away from his stout, fiery-eyed Lieutenant. "Everyone else is leaving, too, like Lisa and Mashiro -"

"You're taking _Mashiro _with you?"

"Hiyori -"

"I don't believe this. You are jeopardizing your entire base here in Hakone for the sake of some flimsy operation in Sapporo which you don't even have enough information on. And, by the way, it's July, so why on earth would you want to bring a scarf?"

The blonde inspector let a hearty chuckle rise from his throat, for he simply admired the passion which burned inside Hiyori, and turned to Kensei, smiling, "Bring the scarf anyway. You never know when we might run out of hand cuffs. Oh, and is Rojuro in his office? Tell him to get the wine from the fridge, we're going to celebrate a bit before we take off..."

Shinji's mirthful voice trailed off into the distance as Sergeant Kensei followed him, leaving a fuming Hiyori alone in her office, fists clenched tightly. She didn't even realize her hands cupping into fists until the nails began to penetrate her flesh - quite painfully, too.

"Unbelievable." She murmured.

* * *

**July 9th**  
**Tokyo, Japan**

Nearly every evening since the unwelcome intrusion of the black-haired spy - whom the Kuchiki-gumi investigators still failed to identify - Ichigo Kurosaki had allotted time to pray in the placid vacancy of the mansion's library. Though the organization's deceased _Oyabun _never placed any religious relics in his home, the Lieutenant nevertheless sought after the peace of an empty room following a harsh day out on the streets of the red-light district, whether it was dislocating a thug's limb or bribing prostitutes to spy on Yakuza rats. There had to be _some _way to uphold his morality and prevent disillusionment, and he had found a way.

After saying prayer and hoping for the well-being of his family that one particular night, Ichigo turned his heel and ambled out into the private garden, where he sat on a stone bench and listened the voice messages left by his little sisters.

_Beep_.

_"Ne, ne, nii-san. This is Yuzu. I really, really miss you. I hope you can come back soon and visit us. I miss our movie nights. Visit us soon, big brother!"_

_Beep_.

_"Hey, Ichigo. Um...I was just wondering when you'll be coming back this month? My soccer game starts in August, so if you're not too busy, I'd like to see you back in Urawa. See ya."_

_Beep._

_"Nii-san, I got a goldfish from dad after my ballet recital! He said it was for being such a good dancer. I hope you can come home so we can feed little Ponyo together! I love you..."_

The humid evening air didn't even continue to bother Ichigo after that last message faded; rather, what began to irritate him was his irresponsible neglect of his two precious sisters, who were worth more than all the gems and golden trinkets in the world. He had to wonder, sitting on that bench by his lonesome, if remaining in the Yakuza business was worth living for. Deep down, his romantic, idealistic and heroic self gave a negative response, but - in actuality - Ichigo knew that his life and his family's existence depended on his dirty work, and if any god-forsaken ultimatum compelled him to plunge himself into the grave arms of the underworld to save his father and sisters, he would gladly agree to it.

As he stood up to return to his quarters, a shuffling noise from behind the rose bushes riveted him to the outside air. Walking over to the source of the noise, he was not the least bit surprised when he noticed little Rukia-san in her navy blue tank top and pyjama pants, lying on the grass, dainty fingers gripping onto a glass of grape wine. She opened her eyes, allowing Ichigo to marvel at the twinkle in her lavender orbs under the star light. She smiled.

"Your sisters have cute voices."

"They're young." The Lieutenant replied, his voice as barren as a death-bearing Saharan wilderness. "And what might you be doing out here?"

"Mm. I like to get a little drunk before I go to bed." The black-haired girl shrugged, sitting up and taking a small sip of her shimmering burgundy liquid. "Want some?"

"No thank you, Rukia-san." He refused kindly. "I'm a teetotaler."

"Hah. How unfortunate of you, Kurosaki-san. I might be completely off base here, but you strike me as the most wholesome individual in this entire gang. Why, I've never heard of a mobster who abstained from alcohol until I met you."

"I don't have to explain all the negative effects of alcohol, Rukia-san. It's critical for me to maintain perfect judgement and physical form, elsewise I become something like Renji Abarai. So, alcohol is out of the equation."

Rukia chuckled airily at his clever little response, and felt slightly better knowing that the ginger-haired lieutenant was loosening up his usual self when around her. He took a seat beside her on the patch of grass, and sat with his arms rested on his knees, and eyes turned upward to view the dazzling lights of Tokyo's skyscrapers, along with all the infant glimmers that drifted in the pitch black heavens. Although Rukia was tempted to inch closer to her escort, she refrained from doing so, believing it would come off as intrusive (not to mention somewhat perverse). Instead, she merely turned her head toward him, and slowly breathed in the scent of his cologne which radiated from his skin. _Giorgio Armani_. She loved it with all her heart.

"Kurosaki-san."

"Yes?"

"I...I want to ask you something. Would that be alright if I do?"

The Lieutenant paused before answering, though he knew his reply would nevertheless be "yes" - simply out of obedience for her; he acted more cautiously, though, quite anxious of Rukia's infamous attitude towards things and her voluminous audacity. "Sure."

"How did you become a Yakuza member?"

"Ah," he sighed, scratching his head. "That's a long story, and reaches very far back into my history."

"Well, I'd love to hear. I'm very curious."

The orange-haired lieutenant nodded and closed his eyes before answering, as if attempting to climb far back enough to recollect and dust off the blurriness of his memories. "Alright. When my father, Isshin, was a young man, he was a rather rogue character, and did a lot of harm to himself and to others. And the only reason he changed his life was because he met my mother. Anyway, I think it's safe to say that he ran around on the streets long enough to one day run into a high ranking member of the Kuchiki-gumi."

"What happened then?"

"He got into trouble." Ichigo continued. "A _lot _of trouble. The gang threatened to kill him, and would have done so, had he not agreed to make a...quite _interesting _exchange with the Yakuza."

Rukia blinked, and asked, "What was that exchange?"

"For my father's life he had to promise to give up a child, preferably a boy, to the Kuchiki-gumi once that child reached his eighteenth birthday -"

"Oh my god!" She spoke out loud, suddenly sitting up to meet Ichigo's eyes. "So, you...you've been in the Kuchiki-gumi for seven years...That child was you, Kurosaki-san."

"...Correct."

"Oh my, that's such a long time." The raven-haired girl murmured, amazed at the length of Ichigo's employment in the Mafia business. What stunned her even more was his uncanny ablility to retain his humane self, even in the midst of untamed bloodshed and debauchery - the typical consequences of involving oneself in the underworld. "Your past reminds me of this German fairytale I once read as a young girl - _Rumplestiltskin_."

The orange-haired man peered at the girl, confused. "I beg pardon?"

"Yeah, your past - your father deciding to give you up before you were born. I can determine that your father wasn't very bright as a young teen, but the miller's daughter wasn't one, either. In the story, she has to spin straw into gold or else the king will kill her, but, of course, she is unable to do so until she meets Rumpelstiltskin. And what he does is he turns all the straw into gold like the king wants, and then she marries the king. Before that, however, she promises to give up her first-born child to Rumpelstiltskin in exchange for his deed. Ah..." Rukia sighed contentedly, somewhat proud of her minor accomplishment in being able to recall the plot of story which she read at six years of age. "That's so amazing, actually. Kurosaki-san, your story is like a fairytale."

"No. It's not; my story is far from a fairytale." The Lieutenant responded, with a glimmer of remorse in his eyes. "There's nothing romantic or beautiful about living such a life - neglecting my family, being part of the underground society, having to beat and hurt people, and scraping away a little bit of my own humanity with each passing day. In fact, I scoff at young people who wish to become like me, because they don't know how much suffering and pain they must first inflict on their loved ones and themselves. All those movies that glorify this type of life are...preposterous, and they make me cringe. But, then again, what would those wealthy, ignorant movie-makers and naive youngsters know about the gang world? I've hurt many people throughout this so-called 'career', all for the sake of paying off my old man's debt to an organization which would be better off dead. I may be lucky that our _Oyabun _was one of the more humane bosses, but, nevertheless, this is not a life _anyone _should live."

He paused, turning his head away to peer at the city lights and to avoid Rukia from noticing his saddened complexion, which only became a darker shade of gray after his sentimental, yet honest aria was spilled from his lips; he genuinely hated discussing his past, and felt rather baffled after sharing such intimate details with a girl he only knew for a short while. Rukia, on the other hand, could not speak at all. She was beyond astonished, not only because she had learned so much in such a brusk amount of time - and about the person she cared so much about, strangely enough - but because she was able to somewhat accurately gather the depth of struggle Ichigo had to endure as a young man.

Even after knowing how awfully society perceived him as, and even though the people of the civilized world viewed Ichigo only as a parasite, she could not resist the feeling of closeness rising from her heart.

Rukia stared down at his hand, which had settled on the grass, and wanted - so badly - to hold it, grip it, simply to convey her own understanding of his unfortunate situation and perhaps even bring a bit of solace to his scarred, battered soul. She wished, hoped, he could welcome her physical display of affection, and allow himself to fall deep into her arms and be soothed into a deep slumber that would erase all those horrific blemishes of his past. But, Rukia could not allow herself to do that, and withdrew her own hand to hold it against her bosom. She then asked, "Why don't you leave the Yakuza?"

His initial response was nothing but a dry chuckle. "Unfortunately, I cannot do that. You can say that I am pretty much damned for life, because even if I flee - which my father tried to do while I was growing up - the Yakuza will find me and possibly even kill me for 'high treason.' The only key to my freedom is death, and with this drug war coming, it's plausible that fate will finally grant that key to me."

"But..." Rukia began. "They cannot do that...Ugh, you're a human being, Kurosaki-san. You have the choice of freedom, and you should be free to embrace it."

"No, the Yakuza holds much power in Japan, and the Kuchiki-gumi itself is one of the most powerful criminal syndicates in the country. I am unable to escape; even if I flee Japan and vow never to return, I would put my family in danger." The ginger-head sighed, scratching his head and attempting to keep himself from saying too much. "Anyway, I should go now. I have a busy day tomorrow before I leave Tokyo."

"Hold on a minute." Rukia called out, not wanting her escort to leave quite yet. "Where are you heading off to?"

"It's not something you need to know, Rukia-san."

"No, I think it is." She protested in response. "I have helped you by giving you information on Barragan. You can at least inform me of where you're going to, because I know for certain it's more of a mission rather than another minor assignment."

"Fine. I'm leaving to find a man who Boss Shiba believes has our cargo. That's all, and once I find him, I will be required to return the materials. Afterwards, I'll come back."

"Right. And who might this man be?"

"It has nothing to do with you, I can tell you that. The Headquarters Boss Zaraki and Lieutenant Abarai are the ones leading the operation in Italy. I am going somewhere else, so you must stay here in Tokyo. That, or return to your home in France. I have found another escort to protect you -"

"Excuse me, Kurosaki-san," The raven-haired girl quickly interrupted, and quite angrily, too. "I do not need a baby-sitter to make sure I live. And I most certainly am not going to sit back helplessly like a damsel, nor am I leaving for France, because this involves me, too."

"No." Ichigo firmly replied, having none of her usual stubborness. "You're not going to do anything reckless. I have a sworn duty to protect you, and if anything happens to you I will be unable to forgive myself. Rukia-san, I acknowledge your exceptional abilities as an investigator, but this situation calls for people better suited for a higher degree of danger. I can't put you in this kind of risk."

She had to admit that she admired his chivalry, as well as his display of bravery and willingness to fight for an organization which he, ironically, refused to believe in. Rukia, in short, had to respect the Lieutenant's loyalty to his family - the one precious attachment of his life he was truly willing to battle for. He was not aiming to salvage the "cargo" or whatever the hell the Yakuza generally prized; rather, he only wished to keep his family in safe hands, and also keep true to his word - like a man after her own heart. However, Rukia would not be shaken off so easily.

"You insult me, Kurosaki-san, by calling me an 'investigator.'" She replied without one ounce of insincerity in her tone. "I'll have you know that what I did in revenge of my sister was more than silly investigative work. I wasn't playing cop and following tips from a cheap, two cent handbook. I was involved in _espionage _because taking down Barragan was war to me, and I refused to allow myself to believe, even for a _second_, that what I was doing was in any way lopsided. You think that I don't know what it means to risk my life, but I cannot count the number of times I have put myself in death's reach, all for something I believed in. And, quite frankly, I don't know what pisses me off more - you trying to disprove my abilities, or me not being able to kill Barragan even when I stared him in his face."

Ichigo, suddenly puzzled, paused for a moment before asking, "You...what do you mean you stared him in the face? Are you saying that you -"

"Met him? I most certainly did." Rukia said. "He thought I was a delivery girl; an innocent, little maiden who knew nothing about what was happening. And I wanted to so badly shoot him in his fucking face and just get it all over. But, I didn't, and had I known earlier that he would escape from prison after a year, I would have surely killed him on the spot, even if it meant my own death as well."

"It doesn't matter how dedicated you are," Ichigo quickly interjected, before she could continue. " Dedication and belief can only go so far. This war requires -"

"You're talking to me as if I'm a little girl. I'm not, and I know I don't look as though I'm built for this -"

"You're not going with me, Rukia-san. I won't allow it."

"Listen to me." She pressed on, adamantly refusing to allow her argument to be sliced. "I'm _not _a goddamn pussy, and I will not have you treat me as one. When you imply that I have not experienced danger fly in my face, or that I have never suffered enough to know what is required of completing a task such as this, then you are mistaken."

"Rukia-san, I -"

"Zip it, and let me finish."

The girl inched closer to Ichigo, hoping he would fully absorb _everything _she was telling him. "I _never _followed the conventional pathway to get to where I am now. I didn't sit in a classroom to play detective or learn 'Spying 101.' I never picked up a textbook to learn how to crawl through ventilation systems or run from speeding cars. I struggled, just like you, and I learned on my own how to handle the worst of the worst. In a way, our pasts have paralleled, Kurosaki-san, because we both strengthened ourselves through the sheer hardihood of our minds and the fortitude of our abilities. We believed in a cause, and we built ourselves from that. So, don't tell me that I cannot handle risk, because I can assure that I have and am willing to do it again, regardless of how rocky the path to my destination is. As of now, there isn't a single obstacle in my way except you."

...

Silence invaded the air.

In a mere minute, the atmosphere had become unbearably still, and even though Ichigo generally appreciated its peace, this time he felt as though the particles of oxygen themselves were suffocating him. In all honesty, he had to admit that he was trapped between both fear and belief. Yes, he trusted Rukia-san and believed every which fell from her lips, but at the same time could not bring his heart to wholly convince himself that she would emerge out of the drug war with all four limbs in tact - especially if she hitched along as an assistant.

Yet, by the way Rukia looked at him - stared hard, deep, and boldly into his own eyes - Ichigo felt he was beginning to have a change of heart. Perhaps, she would be of great assistance, and bring to the operation something uncanny and unexpected. After all, she had done it before, and adapted rather quickly to dangerous situations even when she flew solo. There must have been a reason Rukia knew how to pick locks and take the news of her formerly clandestine relationship to the Kuchiki-gumi with such impeccable ease. In addition, there must have also been a thousand other reasons as to how Rukia acted so boldly, adapted to life in Tokyo without an ounce of complaint, even climb into the trunk of his car one night without him knowing, and take down a malevolent intruder with a goddamn _ballpoint __pen _of all things - now he knew.

"Well, let's start over, why don't we?" Rukia murmured, clearly more optimistic from the softening of the ginger-haired lieutenant's complexion. "Where are you headed off to?"

"..."

"Well?"

"The city of Sapporo in Hokkaido."

"And who exactly are you after?"

"Someone who may possibly be tied to the man you want." Ichigo replied, rising from his seated position as Rukia followed him. "His name is _Ulquiorra Schiffer_."

"I see." Rukia replied back, not saying much, though in her heart she most definitely felt an excitement unlike any other create bursting, fire-like sparks withinin her veins for successfully capturing Ichigo's trust; she promised herself to surely cherish it, embrace it unlike any other, and never to betray such a precious, irreplaceable gift. "Well, we'll make sure he falls on his knees. And I suppose I should retrieve my plane ticket for the next evening?"

Ichigo offered her a simple smile; calm and concise, yet the most genuine of any he had ever shown.

"Get packing."

**TO BE CONTINUED...**

* * *

Rukia's such a badass. 8D Love her to death. I can just hear Duran Duran's song "Hungry Like The Wolf" playing in my head. Ulquiorra's going to be in some deep trouble; Ichigo, Rukia, and the Vizards are all on the hunt for him xD

1) _Kyodai _- "big brothers", I'm guessing they're minor bosses.  
2) _Onee-sama_ - "Big Sister", title for the Boss's wife.  
3) _Keishi-Cho_ - Chief Superintendent (Police)  
4) Yes, I know my writing became more simplified towards the end, but I just wanted to get this chapter done, lol xD Sorry, just thought I should note that.  
5) **Anyone catch the allusion to Miyazaki's film?** :D

Btw, I know that many of you are probably wondering about how the characters in the Yakuza are ranked, so I have composed my own ranking system, starting with the most powerful and influential member at the top. Enjoy, and some may be arbitrarily assigned ;)

1) Byakuya Kuchiki (_Oyabun _- deceased), Tia Halibel (_Onee-sama_)  
2) Kaien Shiba (Senior Advisor)  
3) Kenpachi Zaraki (Headquarters Boss)  
4) Grimmjow Jeagerjaques (Regional Boss)  
5) Renji Abarai (First Lieutenant), Ichigo Kurosaki (Second Lieutenant)  
6) _Kyodai _(includes Iba and some others not yet mentioned)  
7) Junior Bosses  
8) Everyone else... ;p

This list will be updated after a while. Remember to please **review**, and you can talk/discuss anything in the review section. Ask a question, comment about likes/dislikes, make a suggestion for a future chapter, etc. _All feedback is much appreciated_. Thanks!


	7. Hello, Nocturnality

**'HELLO, NOCTURNALITY'**

* * *

**Author's Notes**: I know, I know. And you guys are free to hate me. I understand that I was slow before, but this chapter was headache-worthy, backbreakingly slow to develop and complete. In short, Chapter 7 was a pain in the ass and I'm glad to be through with it. Now, onwards to Chapter 8, which, in my prediction, will be the most anticipated one for all you IchiRuki fanatics. Hint, hint ~

Do enjoy this chapter here. Once again, I'm sorry you all waited two and a half eternities for an update.

**Warning: **Language, violence.

* * *

**July 20th**  
**Sapporo, Hokkaido**

"You're leaving again?"

Slim fingers rose to gently caress the black tresses of her hair as lethargic lavender eyes captured the attention of a pair of sullen brown orbs across the room. Those eyes which once held the glistening charm of a passionate youth had, over the past few days, reduced to a dull glimmer as a result of stress and continuous, thriving vexation - a concern which only worsened with the fact that _she _of all people had managed to jump aboard and take a ride beyond the threshold to a mafia-filled hell.

The ginger-haired lieutenant found himself momentarily distracted by the uncommon scene of a sleepy Rukia stretching herself on the bed as he attempted to button up his suit in under ten seconds. With his soaken hair still dripping and eyes darting back and forth from the clock, Ichigo appeared to have become somewhat of an unruly mess. Still, Rukia had to admit the sight of the lieutenant and even the airily sweet fragrance of his shampoo inspired some endearment within her.

Ichigo, however, was nowhere as relaxed as she was; a private meeting with a syndicate boss was to transpire in less than an hour, and he was faced with the challenge of having to utilize his charm and wit to convince the Yakuza head of shifting aid to the Kuchiki-gumi. The task was enormous, and even more so given that Ichigo was currently alone in Sapporo, having only Rukia as both an assistant and (unbeknownst to her) a slight burden to accompany him.

"Yes. My meeting with the boss begins at about 7. I won't be back for a long time, so you must be patient and keep yourself safe."

The red-head slipped on his tie with relative ease (the buttons were much harder to deal with, strangely enough) and turned his back to Rukia as he stood in front of the mirror to correct any last-minute flaws with his appearance. Rukia only thoughtlessly rolled her eyes and buried her head back under the covers, quite frustrated with the lieutenant's tendency to disappear again and again into the night without ever disclosing enough information to allow her to rest easy.

Yet, this was becoming a routine which the girl was finding herself slow to adapt to, and though she worried for his well-being, she would never confess such sentiments in his presence for fear of becoming too much of a wifely figure. Rukia was prudent enough to understand that Ichigo could endure just about anything, and he did not want nor need an apron-wielding woman to be picking at his back; he simply needed an assistant to remain as inconspicuous as possible, and so far Rukia was doing...a pretty swell job.

She hoped that Ichigo was headed in the right direction, because remaining in a tight, confined space in the basement of an old Yakuza hideout for days and nights was much less than ideal for someone whose motivation for traveling to Sapporo was partly due to the drive for both exhilaration and excitement. Even more frustrating for Rukia was sharing a space with tight-lipped Ichigo Kurosaki who not only withheld _all _information of the operation, but treated her like a little girl devoid even of the notion of self-protection.

"What do you want me to do?" She asked, though already knowing what his answer would be.

"Nothing. Just stay inside and don't make a sound."

_Of course._

After spraying himself with a few shots of cologne, Ichigo grabbed a suitcase from under the table and turned to the door before peering down at Rukia, who seemingly aimed to return to her early-evening nap. That was perfectly fine. What worried Ichigo was the possibility of Rukia becoming irritated enough to creep out of their cell; she had, after all, been slowly suffocating to death for days and days in this underground vault, and the only contact with the outside world was through Ichigo, who barely spoke a word to her anyway.

He ran his fingers through his hair, uncomfortable and displeased with the thought of making Rukia wait any longer. But, what could he do? Rukia _did _indeed volunteer for this assignment despite his protests, knowing perfectly well how gossamery and shatterable this operation was, and that the merest of abberations could result in thousands of blood-soaken bodies by the mid-winter period.

Ichigo knew for certain that he needed her abilities for _something_, but the right time continued to slip through his grasp, so stalling was necessary. Part of him wanted to thank her, though, for displaying such impeccable patience; waiting in a submerged bunker with barely any food or sunlight to seep through the cracks was a harsh slap in the face for the Cambridge graduate, whose capabilities brought her onto sky-high pedestals, yet here she was - willing to lie lower than a centipede in the dirt for the sake of the operation and for him.

How noble of her.

Ichigo's softer side compelled him to allow the girl to understand his appreciation of her, and he promised himself to do that, but not at this moment, of course. An important meeting, one which would mean nearly life or death for the Kuchiki-gumi, was to occur, and he had to leave - quickly, before the hour hand touched the seven. Unlocking the door, the lieutenant spared one final glance at the motionless figure that rested gracefully above the bed, and, with a sinking heart burdened with the guilt of inflicting further pain (or, boredom in this case) upon the person who only wished to help him, ambled noiselessly away into the hush of the humid evening.

* * *

**July 18th**  
**Hawthorne, Nevada**

_Crack._

Bloodcurdling shrieks of anguish swept feverishly throughout the empty darkness of the sunken dungeon room, growing louder after each ear-splitting crack descended mercilessly upon the blotched, sweat-stained flesh of the unfortunate captive. He sat on his bench whilst attempting to support a wilted head that dripped of neverending perspiration, and subconsciously licked at the wounds surrounding his bruised lips, too exhausted to open his eyes, and much too devitalized to even want to inhale another breath as doing so would only elongate his misery.

Two men stood in the cell alongside their prey, one holding a rather surreptitious instrument of torture that was soaked of warm blood, and the other nonchalantly conversing with an associate while enjoying the gory display of brutality before him.

"Do you hear that, Ulquiorra?" His cooly unconcerned voice asked.

"I do." A frigid entity replied back. "Though, I did not expect you to enjoy such savagery, Aizen. This certainly is another side of you which you have kept well hidden."

"Ah, but it is not I who engages in this. My right-hand man does a much better job in the art of extraction of information from our subjects, and he is considerate enough to understand how much I loathe the feeling of blood on my hands." Aizen smirked while glancing over at his silver-haired partner. "The current man we have here was captured last night, and his connection to the Yakuza has been verified after a series of..._interrogations_. Ulquiorra, I suggest you strengthen your guard during your stay in Sapporo."

"Hm."

"The Kuchiki-gumi, though merely a third-rate cluster of thugs by our standards, moves quickly on its feet, and I know this for certain. If the subject is correct, the man who has been sent after you is currently in the city and is preparing reinforcements through an alliance with another syndicate."

"Yes. I will be sure to take extreme caution, and I will have my own men encompass the city to root out any Yakuza rat they find."

"Very well." Aizen replied, raising a handkerchief to dab the beads of sweat which formed on his forehead. "Ulquiorra, if you'll excuse me, I have other matters to attend to. And as a final note, make sure you inform me once your men have reached Morro Bay with my cargo."

"Understood..."

_Beep._

Crimson fluids bubbled and dripped from the captive's half-open lips, streaming down from his chin into a bloody puddle on the concrete floor. Somber eyes peered upwards to gather a view of his tormentors and wearily dropped back down again as the silver-haired man, whose smirk metamorphosed into an unorthodox grin, plucked another instrument from the table and held it to his superior for further approval.

Aizen shook his head. "No, Gin. I believe this man has been quite cooperative, and it is about time we grant him release."

"Alright, I got ya." Gin replied lackadaisically, shrugging his bony shoulders. "One bullet, or two?"

"One bullet."

Gaunt fingers inserted a single silver bullet into the M-9 Beretta pistol and pointed it in the direction of the man's head, which seemed ready to topple over and collapse onto the floor. But, before Gin could continue onwards to the finale, he sent one last glance at Aizen and asked, "May I grant him an audience first, Boss?"

The brown-haired man responded initially with a rather obfuscated look, but then replied, "And what purpose will that serve, Gin?"

"Well, this critter _was _an apprentice of mine before he scattered away from the den, and I think that a kind lil' talkin' might do him good before he meets his maker. What do ya say?"

"If you wish. I, on the other hand, have no more business with him; do as you please."

"Much obliged."

Turning his heel in the direction of the exit, Aizen tossed his soaken handkerchief aside and walked away, quietly humming an old-century, operatic tune as though the past hour of bloodshed and torment was only a fantasy that had dispersed into the air and failed to exist any longer. Gin stepped forward to gather a better view of his captive, who began to tremble hysterically from the mere thought of what was soon to happen in that tiny, grime-filled cell. The simple sound of the trigger being tapped sent a wave of tumultuous jolts throughout what remained of his body, and he wept silently, tears burning his eyes, attempting to grip onto the last evidence of his dignity by muffling any noises which pressured for escape from his battered lips.

"Aww, Jesus." Gin whispered. "Look at ya, ya slobberin' piece of shit. I knew ya were never gonna amount ta anythin' in the end, and it amazes me that I had even once thought of you as a dutiful subordinate, when, in reality, you were nothin' but a rat that got fucked by the Yakuza."

The young man groaned, but failed to reply.

"Man, it sure is fuckin' miserable in this hellhole, ain't it?" Gin spoke as he loosened the buttons of his suit, cursing the Nevada desert for nurturing such torturous heat tantamount to the flares of the sun. "And ya know what's gonna be even more miserable and shitty? That's gonna be you dyin' here."

"..."

"..._Kira_."

Half-open eyes of sorrow glared upwards for a final time, struggling to make out a clear image of the silver-haired man through the sweat-stained wisps of blonde hair that dangled down. He glanced at the sly, demented complexion of his long-time mentor - his childhood pseudo-father - Gin Ichimaru, a man who had changed too much since their last time together as teacher and student. Yes, this man who was a pull of the finger away from sealing his ultimate fate had transformed into an abomination; and to think he once trusted him with his life...

"So, why'd ya do it, Izuru?"

Then, the captive glanced back at the gun.

"...Do _what_?"

"Don't fuck around with me. Why'd ya sell yerself out like a fuckin' pussy?"

The blonde, even in his wretched state, managed to murmur with admirable strength, "You were no longer the man I once knew."

Gin spat, impatient. "That's a hell of a load o' bullshit yer tryin' ta dump on me right now, Izuru-kun, when ya know perfectly well that I can blow yer brains out at any moment."

"You're a monster..._sensei_..."

"And yer a maggot worth nothin' but a pile of rottin' shit, and that's what yer gonna turn into." The fox-faced man sneered, instantly bloodying Kira's nose with a vicious blow to the face. "Ya disappointed me these past twenty-six hours o' interrogation, Kira. I thought I told ya never ta crack, and yet ya did. Oh, Jesus, ya gave us so much information...Ya became a traitor _and _a pussy-whipped bitch. Ya were never meant ta be anythin' great, and I knew it...I knew it all along. Well...fuck me fer not gettin' this done earlier."

_Click, click._

"Goodbye, child."

Crimson splattered onto the wall.

* * *

**July 20th**  
**Sapporo, Hokkaido**

It was done - mini-Operation titled "Reconcilliation and Alliance" (quite a redundant and unoriginal name) was secured and complete. And, for the first time in the evening, Ichigo Kurosaki could sip his sake without any hesitation nor anxiety; the Kuchiki-gumi had gained a valuable confederate after an hour-long intake of rice-wine and implied forgiveness, and though the lieutenant's cheeks flushed with a baby pink unfit for a soldier of the mafia underworld, relief clearly blossomed throughout his veins, as displayed by a charming smile he had not shown in years.

"To you and your health, Kyoraku-sama."

The ginger-head lifted his cup in thanks of his new ally's hefty contributions, and swallowed down another few fluid ounces of the poison which he abhorred with a passion, but, nevertheless, forced down his gullet in an attempt to appear friendly and, well...Yakuza-like. It seemed the temporary forfeiture of his own taste buds did indeed bring a most auspicious outcome; the Oyabun's spirit could rest well in the heavens for now.

"And to you, Lieutenant...and to Kuchiki-sama, whom I dearly miss." The brown-haired boss chimed through a slurred speech while scratching the tiny wisps of hair above his chin.

Shunsui Kyoraku: a wealth-hauler, Yakuza Boss, and dreaded monarch of Sapporo's blackened underground was most definitely fearsome as validated by his blood-stained resume which spanned a good two decades. Ichigo had been long immersed by the rumors and tales of this grand potentate of the north, who had single-handedly bottled up the Sapporo authorities and transformed them into mere puppets, ready to be commanded by the steel fingers of the Yakuza nucleus with a single snap. This man, despite harboring a rather mortifying weakness for the heavenly embrace of Japanese alcohol - which he simultaneously referred to as his "madonna"- belonged to a family submerged in not only wealth, but capacity for damage.

Historically, the Kyoraku plutocrats either involved themselves in the risque outlet of weaponry and instruments of death, or they became loan-sharks after privatizing elite armies equivalent to those of the legendary Cosimo de Medici; their supposed bountiful fountain of intelligence and capability was merely a result of continual bribing of the administration of the globe's most prestigious and elite universities, but, of course, not many people knew such a dirty secret.

Kurosaki Ichigo, having been creeping through the Yakuza systems for years, had risen to the surface and uncovered many of the tricks the Kyoraku family utilized to expand and maintain their empire. In short, their immortality and god-like statuses were mere illusions crafted once again by the perpetual transfer of money. He could have scowled; the Kyoraku family encompassed all the nastiest and most loathesome, brutish traits the ginger-head despised. Fear, manipulation, abuse, and extortion - those were just a fraction of the sins associated with the almighty and all-execrable Kyorakus. Likewise, however, those vices were also what made the family such a powerful and valued Yakuza ally; Shunsui Kyoraku was, needless to say, the jewel of the gilded crown.

"So, Lieutenant Kurosaki," Shunsui spoke up, immediately forcing Ichigo to pop out of his ephemeral thought bubble. "Now that we have finished with our negotiations, I will have my men prepare for their scavenger hunt around the city. This Schiffer fellow won't last long; after all, _I _control Sapporo."

"Thank you, Kyoraku-sama. Our Oyabun would be grateful for your aid."

"No need, Lieutenant." He chuckled, motioning for his bookish-looking, yet rather eye-catching, assistant to make note of his instructions. "This is the least I can do for an old friend. Christ, he was so young - too young - to die, but he was no doubt something of a remarkable leader. I'll make certain his family's influence lives on."

Ichigo held the glistening cup of sake to his immobilized lips, unsure of how to appropriately respond to such a prospect which would, of course, not only shower him with prodigious honor but conversely continue to chain him to the tainted Yakuza underworld. Many times he had pondered and questioned his motives, and why he would cross such vast lengths to contribute to and bolster an institution he could not whole-heartedly place faith in nor come to admire. Sure, his family's wellbeing placed first and foremost beyond anything else, but...to associate himself with someone as morally reprehensible and disgusting as the half-inebriated man he had shaken hands with compelled Ichigo to interrupt the present and, once again, re-examine his enigmatic self - even for just a transitory moment. But, of course, a life immersed with Yakuza culture and moral contamination rarely allowed much time for soul-searching.

Soon enough, Shunsui poured his flushed, orange-haired guest another cup of wine and invited an additional femme fatale cocotte (a.k.a Stripper) to occupy the two men with further display of lewd and raunchy entertainment, as if an entire mansion congested with lipstick-wearing, nymphomaniacal whores failed to be enough for the bushy, fourty-something-year old man (who, by the way, was far past his prime).

This was to be a _long _night.

* * *

As the prudent Lieutenant predicted roughly four hours ago, the evening had indeed extended far into the night, luring out the more rambunctious younger folk to roam the light-scattered streets of Sapporo. After refusing Shunsui's insistence on preparing a limousine ride for him, the ginger-head decidedly ambled back to his submerged hide-out in a dual attempt to both clear his mind of further intoxication and exhaustion, and also to remain inconspicuous. After all, riding in a glimmering luxury vehicle that utterly glowed under the city's luminosity was bound to turn some heads - and concurrently arouse the undesired attention of a certain group of rival mobsters who could have already engrossed the area.

Tugging on the hat which hid his fulgent head of bright orange hair, Ichigo glanced about the brilliantly-lit window shops that lined up adjacent to the crowded street, admiring the temporary relief of being able to once again spark a connection back to his "better days." Those days, he thought to himself, of school books and cereal for breakfast, of soccer practice with his sister and banters with goat-face dad...had been pushed far into the recess of his mind; clouded, buried, filled with cobwebs that required fire to extinguish.

Ichigo kept no secrets to himself; he missed his family so very much and would have sawed off his own limbs simply to see their smiling faces again and to also apologize for physically neglecting them as both a son and a brother. For several years the pathway to his quaint little house in Urawa gradually became blocked off by duties and priorities on behalf of the Kuchiki-gumi. Unfortunate, he oftentimes murmured to himself, that a life on the streets and a daily dose of the bitterness of life were what forced him to fully love his family beyond the limits. He wanted - needed - a way home. And if serving the Yakuza lords, committing attrocities, and defiling the society of innocents promised him a window to his loved ones, Ichigo would gladly continue with his current life for sixty additional years if necessary.

Perhaps, notwithstanding the odds which piled against such an ideal dream, he would even be able to cradle his sisters' children in his arms someday or nurture a family of his own and maybe, _just maybe_, feel human again.

_Splash!_

A jet of water collided with the pavement as it was tossed out of a bucket by an elderly woman to who had emerged from her home to do so. The abrupt noise and sensation of coolness on his pants snapped Ichigo out of his thoughts, which was somewhat disappointing (reminiscing of family life proved to be rather satisfying), and had he been either of the hot-heads Renji or Grimmjow, the poor woman would have surely been crushed into fine dust.

But, Ichigo simply offered her a smile and continued on his way.

Surely enough, while approaching a modernistic cafe which offered prettily dressed girls as waitresses, he noticed a familiar flash of red-orange wisps flutter breezily in the light, and sway so daintily they harbored the power to mesmerize any curious eye that looked on. That brilliant peppy hair...those demure gray eyes, and...oh no, that "_chest _of the gods."The ginger-head attempted to quietly scurry away without arousing any attention from the girl he first spotted, but, with a face that never failed to make a girl's heart rise, Ichigo was not successful at being unnoticed - and that applies even without his remarkably wild hair.

"Kuro...?"

A gulp ensued; the fish had been ensnared.

"Kurosaki-kun!"

Thin, milky-white arms instantaneously wrapped around his neck as Ichigo attempted his escape, and tugged him backwards until he could feel the girl's bosom press against his back. While most men would have thoroughly enjoyed the sensation of such substantial softness welcome them after a difficult night of hard liquor and unwanted intoxication, the Lieutenant silently grumbled knowing that this _uber-unwanted_ encounter would further subtract resting time from him. Nonetheless, he tried to be cordial; she was an old friend, after all.

"...Inoue."

"Oh how wonderful, Kurosaki-kun, you still remember me!" The pepper-haired girl squealed, pressing her plump breasts together in sheer joy. On the other hand, Ichigo could not quite grasp the clear reason as to why this girl had the tendency to do so with her...body. Still, he - being a model gentleman - refrained from staring at her odd display of joviality and forced a smile from his lips as a gesture of kindness, though the yearn for sleep enslaved him.

"Yes, I do. We attended the same high school, didn't we?"

"You don't understand how much I've missed you, Kurosaki-kun." Her eyes seemed to fill with sparkles, though it may have been caused by the lighting. "And what might you be doing here in Sapporo? I thought you were still in Urawa."

"No, my family is still in Urawa, but I've moved to Tokyo for...business, and that's also why I'm here."

"Ah, I see, I see!"She chirped effervescently, tucking a soiled towel into her frilly apron's pocket. "Ichigo, why don't you have seat and I'll get you a cup of tea. How does that sound?"

Ichigo pressed his cap down further onto his head, realizing the high-pitched, squeaky voice of the girl in his presence turned many heads of both the customers and passersby, and the one thing he feared more than running into Inoue Orihime - a girl who had overtly and shamelessly pursued him all throughout their four years of highschool together - was garnering unwanted and unnecessary attention from the surrounding civilians.

"...No, I can't," He murmured, watching nonchalantly as the girl's smile gradually wilted with such a frigid response. "I'm sorry, but I have to return home now."

"Oh, alright...But you have to promise me you'll come back to see me."

Ichigo's gaze was suddenly dragged elsewhere by the emerging lights of a silver Mercedes roaming the streets, compelling him to stare away with sparked suspicion. Such a prized and uncommon vehicle was generally considered the property of either a high-powered CEO (likely) or a scavenger of a rival criminal syndicate (more likely), and would have automatically registered itself on the Lieutenant's mental hit-list had he failed to notice a young child sitting in the backseat with his mother cradling him. He sighed, realizing the night had rendered him more anxious than ever.

"I promise, Inoue."

She smiled, leaping onto his chest for another grand embrace that proved a bit too tight for comfort, as made obvious by the ginger-head's sudden outburst of a pained groan.

"Oh, thank you, thank you, Kurosaki-kun!" Inoue giggled merrily as she returned to her tables. "Then, I hope to see you soon ~"

* * *

"9, 3, 3, 7, 2, 0, 0, 6."

_Click_.

Sweet relief immediately inundated the exhausted Lieutenant as he quickly punched in the Kuchiki-gumi's security code and managed to unlock the door - despite wielding a full hand of twitching fingers, no doubt aggravated by the sheer amount of alcohol he had forced himself to consume that evening. Stepping into the bunker, he was not surprised to find the entire room submerged in blackness, with only the minute blinking light of Rukia's laptop glowing through the dark.

Careful not to wake the girl who had, by then, fallen asleep on her bed, Ichigo switched on a dim nightlight and silently tugged his shirt off, tossing it onto his own bed before sitting down to remove his shoes. The night had successfully drained his young vitality, and after washing up, the Lieutenant walked into the kitchen for a quick refreshment until he noticed an odd, extrinsic aroma of sweetness floating about the room. Looking down at the table, he found what appeared to be a single mug of a milky, honey-brown concoction, and beside it sat a plate of fresh fruits and a thin, pancake-like delicacy sprinkled on with frail white sugar. A note was settled beside the plate.

_Kurosaki,_

_I made dinner for you using what I was able to gather in the kitchen. Consider this favor not only a token of appreciation for what you have done so far, but also a display of my sympathy. I know you've been stressed lately (don't deny it), and assuming that you will continue this routine of yours for an additional week or two, I think it might do you good to enjoy a bit of my cooking. Remember, fruits are good for you._

_- Rukia_

Ichigo crumpled the note in his grip, failing to notice his lips curve into a small, subconsciously-formed smile as it was deposited in his pocket. He marveled at the ripe congregation of raspberries and grapes, though more curious about the glossy, russet dessert which had settled in the mug. Creme Brulee, Ichigo instantly thought to himself whilst poking the hardened caramel with a spoon; it was a classical European delicacy that Rukia oftentimes enjoyed during her residence at the Kuchiki-gumi headquarters, but the Lieutenant never could have guessed that she was able to actually make it herself, given the limited supply of foodstuff in their bunker. Nonetheless, the little woman was full of surprises.

And, as expected, her cooking was remarkable. Though she overtly despised the idea of engaging in domestic art and even more so the notion of _excelling _in such a pastime, Rukia was a well-rounded individual who proved herself not only perfectly capable in the university's classroom, but in the house as well. The dishes were filed neatly in the cabinet, the lavatory remained glistening clean at all times, and not a speck of loose dust roamed about - all thanks to her puritanical appreciation of cleanliness.

A soft and sudden mewl from the main room prompted Ichigo to inch closer to Rukia's bed; she momentarily tossed under the covers, resting her arm above her chest, but - sure enough - silently assured her escort of no such existing problem with a tender sigh exhaled from her lips. Annoying dream, perhaps. With that, the Lieutenant's mind could shut down for the night, as everything appeared to be well in place.

Anxious to resign to the comfort of his own bed, Ichigo turned his heel and retreated away from the girl, yet, for some odd reason, failed to pull his eyes away from that dainty, little body which lay nimbly under a sheet of white linen. Mellifluous almond eyes traced the delicate outline of Miss Rukia's frail figure; she appeared to be wearing a mere tank top and shorts - appropriate considering the weather - but, being so thin, those spaghetti-like straps of her top barely hugged her shoulders well enough and thus drooped downwards to reveal a teasingly beautiful portion of her clear, porcelain flesh. Perky, cherry pink lips reminiscent of a ripened berry shone faintly under the nightlight, graced with soft, black tresses which trailed across her face like a thousand black rivers on a plain of milky skin.

Ichigo blinked, nodding his head. What the _hell _was he doing?

He admitted, clearly anyone with half a head could conclude that Rukia was indeed a beautiful girl, especially during her period of slumber when he himself had described her as "utterly angelic." The first time Ichigo had found her asleep, Rukia was resting above a plethora of shopping bags, and never before had Ichigo noticed a girl more seraphic-looking than her; black, shining hair contrasted sharply, yet dazzlingly, with her pearl complexion, and the one physical aspect which impressed the young Lieutenant were none other than her rosy, full lips - as full as the bursting garden of ideas and collected wisdom in her head, but certainly more beautiful to the naked eye. He had wondered sometimes, just _sometimes _- not often - if anyone had felt and touched and enjoyed those beautiful, plummy lips on their own...

...and now he was once again carried away.

This unexpected train of thought was to be regretted in the morning (and violently pushed off its tracks, quickly), and yet he continued to wonder what Rukia would think, how she would respond, if she ever miraculously revealed his secret thoughts of her. With a horrified gasp, or a slap across the face in defense of her dignity, knowing that he had been aroused by the mere sight of her _lips_? Ichigo could have continued to debate the various different possibilities into the wee hours of the mid-morning, but, having determined that the little lady had occupied his mind for too long, pulled the covers over his shoulder and sanctioned for his mind to wander into the murkiness of his dreams.

**TO BE CONTINUED...**

* * *

I've lost my touch. Oh well, I'm sure AP Literature will restore my writing abilities in due time :D

1) The man who was executed by Gin was indeed Kira Izuru, a supposed student of some sort to the former. Sorry, girls.  
2) The underground bunker which Ichigo and Rukia occupy was completely made up by me. I don't even know if the Yakuza own their own submerged hideouts, but, given that they're bursting with stolen money, I'm sure they do. Having the couple live in a luxury hotel was a bit...absurd by my standards, and left very little room for action.

**And, just for fun, here's a few questions for all you readers out there: what do you think of Orihime making an intrusion into the story, and what do you think her role will be? In addition, what are your thoughts on Gin's and Kira's relationship before Gin became Aizen's crony?**

Ahh, if you have any more questions for comments about this chapter, please do make it public in the **Review** section and I will answer/respond to them as soon as possible. And, yes, praises or words of inspiration (desperate woman here, lol) would be lovely and dearly welcomed. Thank you.

Ciao.


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